Roses in December
by SweetNothingness
Summary: The experiences of growing older have done nothing to dispel Wendy's dream for more. But is Peter the most tempting factor of her childhood, or was she blind? T/M, just to be safe!
1. Prologue

_I re-read my writing and realized I didn't like it. So I'm going through the chapters and re-writing them. I don't know if any of you will care, but it will make me feel better._

His blue eyes were shatteringly cold and bright, set as they were against the rolling black clouds that signalled Peter's death. Pain, harsh and lancing, forced its way like poison through Wendy's veins as she held back bitter sobs mourning the loss of her childhood love.

"Once upon a time there was a boy named Peter Pan, who decided not to grow up." Wendy paused, her gaze hard on that of the pirate's as her depression receded into harsh anger. He dug his hook under her chin until the cold metal was edging her skin into beads of bright blood, flowers of red bursting on pale skin.

"Skip the prologue." His voice was deceptively smooth, that hint of an English drawl rough in his impatience as his lips nearly brushed hers in his distracted irritation.

"So he flew away to Neverland where the pirates are." The captain lowered his face to hers, caressing her flushed cheek with the point of his hook with a smirk. Wendy flinched once, before steeling herself for his insults.

"What… fun he must have had."

Wendy's gaze glittered hard as diamonds, he couldn't help but notice, crystallised ice. She was so short she barely reached his chest, he was bent uncomfortably to hold her close enough to hear.

"Yes. But he was rather lonely." Her chin notched up a touch so that her eyes were level with his, breath a whisper against his, sickening anger thrilling him as it flashed in her expression. Hook raised one eyebrow in surprise.

"Lonely?" His eyes glanced from her eyes to her mouth, which trembled with stories and unshed tears, that kiss nestled quietly below the dimple on her right cheek. "Ah. He needed a…. Wendy." The wind whipped at the pair, clasped together as they were on the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ and lifting their hair to dance in a fairy dance of brown and black. Both were oblivious, caught as they were in the dangerous game of stories and intrigue. The surrounding crew were silent, hands muffling the cries of the Lost Boys, who in their young age couldn't understand the gravity of the situation. One of the crew spoke, but caught up as Wendy was in her dangerous storytelling, she didn't even register his words.

Without looking away from the sea of Wendy's eyes, Hook aimed his pistol from his hip and shot him directly above the bridge of his nose. The Lost Boys screamed as blood and shattered bone spurted in a cannon into the still evening air, just touched with the crisp apple gold of sunshine. The light lit the pair, shimmering on the metal of the Captain's hook, on Wendy's unshed tears, on the glitter of promise.

"Why a Wendy?" He murmured lowly, tilting her face upwards to face his own. "Why _you?_"

"He liked my stories."

"What stories?" Her tone of defiance surprised the question out of him. A boy and a girl who shared kisses under the waxen Neverland moon rarely coupled for _stories._ Then again, this was a mere child. He doubted twelve year old English girls were taught to delve into the unscrupulous pleasures of the flesh from so early an age, if ever.

"Cindarella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty."

"Love stories?"

"Adventures!" She abruptly shrieked against his chest at the mere mention of the word _love. _Her eyes fired in a blaze of cloudy blue, hair crackling with the shafts of sunlight. "In which good triumphs over _evil._" The surrounding pirates caught their breath in surprise, and turned their attention to the Captain to see what he would do to suppress such impertinence. Hook, however, looked thoughtful, as his eyes lingered again on the right hand corner of her lower lip.

"They all end in a kiss." The scattered thoughts that had been buzzing in his head abruptly came into one, as her lips opened in a gasp that she hastily suppressed. He grasped her closer to him, his hook below her chin as he stared down at her face in revelation. "A _kiss. _He does feel. He feels about _you." _

Wendy glared up at him, keeping her mouth shut as the hook dug deeper into her skin as he lost concentration to understand the gravity of his understanding. His left hand, which grasped her wrists, was tense enough to grind her bones together. As though suddenly noticing Hook tossed his head back suddenly to regard his crew and pushed Wendy away from him to the floor, stalking towards her too fast for her to try to run away.

"_She told him stories. He taught her to fly._" He wheeled around and whipped out his sword with a snick of metal on leather. He pressed it to her breasts where she lay on her back, arms to her side and head pillowed by soft curls, breath fast. "How?"

Wendy smiled slowly, as sly as a cat, despite her position of mortal peril at the hand of the pirate captain, "You just think happy thoughts. They lift you up, into the air."

Hook growled in frustration and hauled her to her feet, bundled so her feet weren't touching the ground in his frustration, arms holding her hard and fast to make her wince.

"Alas- I have no happy thoughts."

"That brings you down."

The impertinence! Hook twisted her under his grip and caught her throat with his hook menacingly. Wendy stood straight, her breath quick on the exposed skin of his collar-bones as she braced herself for the pain, the spurt of blood. She briefly wondered if Hook would mind getting a stain on his pristine shirt. Michael behind her couldn't bear to see his older sister so handled by a man twice her size and piped up, straining against the pirates grasp,

"Fairy dust! You need fairy dust!"

Michael was quickly shushed, but Hook had heard. A slow smile wound over his lips as he lowered them to brush Wendy's hair.

"What of Pan? Would unhappy thoughts bring _him_ down?" His warm lips brushed her forehead, directly contrasting the cold steel at her throat.

"He has no unhappy thoughts."

Wendy Moira Angela Darling jerked awake, her breath quick, her bed-sheets snarled around her body. She looked wildly around the room, fisted hands twisted in her little pillow and tears streaming down her pale face, the echo of his roar of anger still ringing in her ears.

"A memory… A memory…" She murmured to herself like a chant, shaking sleep dust from her eyes with a bleary gesture of ambivalence, trying to calm her racing blood. A ghost of metal at her throat, the heat of an arm like a manacle around her waist, an English drawl bitingly sarcastic in her ear.

The night was heavy, a blackness that swirled into a millions of pinpricks of light. Wendy stood and drifted from her bed to sit, with her night dress drawn up around her knees, chin propped on her knees to gaze up at the familiar horizon, still shivering. The window was open, invitingly, lace curtains fluttering in the wind like delicate ghosts. A dream. A memory. What was the difference anymore?

The nursery had long since changed; John had moved on to university, and Michael was away at school. Both were utterly normal, utterly bright and focused on their futures in banking and law respectively, any thoughts of stories and adventure long dead. It was now her own space for thinking, as bare and pretty as the front she presented the world.

_You must stop these stories, Wendy. You're delusional. We'll have to commit you to Bedlam if you don't stop yourself. Another suiter rejecting you? Wendy!_

Her Aunt Millicent's sharp tone was more tiring than that of her mother's quiet disappointment. Oddly, if a phantom figure were to taunt her in her nursery, she would rather have Hook. At least he was honest in his plan to murder her, a clean slice to the throat rather than the slow, soul crushing boredom of society.

There weren't enough grains of sand in the world to count the number of times Wendy had dreamed of Neverland. Her forehead creased into a frown, as it often did when she tried to remember a detail. The exact colour of Peter's hair. The sound of the mermaid's tails splashing against the waves. The glint of a pirate's sword against the sunset.

_I am an adult. I don't need you, Peter Pan. _She smirked to herself, proud of her resilience, even before it faded and her eyes clouded over again. _Then why can't I live my life here?_

Sighing, she stood, her eyes still clear on the stars- on one star. _Second the right and straight on 'til morning._ What a bore it was, to remember, so lucidly. Odd, however, that her memories should revolve about the ship. When she had first left Neverland it had been Peter who occupied her every waking thought- his mysterious smile and winking eyes, and the promise of a kiss of an acorn. Now however… The life of a pirate- it was the only thing that would ever intrigue her. And what was the worst that could happen- that she should be swallowed by the shifting tides of the place she prized above all. Even the thought of drowning there was more of a comfort than the monotony of slowly dying a lady, married and used in a London townhouse- whomever her husband would turn out to be, the correct three children clutching at her breasts. Children she would have to tailor to her husband's specifications. Children she would have to raise to be dull and unthinking in their duty to avoid anomalies such as herself, who _damaged _England as we all know it. People who should be committed to a mental asylum for sharing fairytales.

_Please come back for me. Don't forget me._ A tear slid down her face, rolled over her cheek, her lip, and came to land salty on her tongue. _And if you already have, the please, please remember._ _I can't bear this world much longer. _


	2. Chapter One

When she awoke, Wendy jolted upright. Something wasn't right. Instead of the false lavender of the soap manufactured along the Thames, the musk of run and salt met her nose. The ground rocked like a cradle. Afraid to open her eyes, she smoothed her hand along the cover that hid her body from prying eyes.

Sure enough, she was naked.

The cover that hid her- it smelled of tobacco and velvet and the sea, and hugged her body as softly as water. She stretched her awareness, listening hard, without betraying her awoken state. The faint catcalls of men, the thrum of water on wood, the sputter of a candle- and was that? Breathing?

"Good morning, Wendy, my darling." A low voice murmured from her left. She flushed, but kept her face passive and her breathing even. "_Miss _Darling. I know you are awake, and if you do not look at me, I will be forced to retaliate by whisking my cloak off of you."

She knew that voice. It had haunted her, for six years, along with a flash of sea blue eyes and red velvet. His words sank in, like poison into a wound, and she immediately clutched at her covers without turning her head, cringing back into the cocoon of warmth.

"Captain." She whispered, cracking her eyes open carefully. Sure enough, Captain James Hook lounged beside the bed she was lying on, his feet propped up on a chest and a flask of rum careless in his one hand. His features were relaxed, lips curved into a satisfied smirk, raven shorter than she remembered by far- a mess of tousled black ringlets falling to his chin. And his eyes- Wendy looked away quickly to avoid being scorched. They were bright, burning, amused and angry and curious and a thousand other things all in a whirlpool around his pupils, that hint of red seductively purple under the blue.

"Isn't that better?" He took a swig from his flask, eyes not leaving the girl huddled under his cloak. She glared back, sitting upright with the cloth clutched to her bare chest. Fear drew the skin around her eyes tightly as she tried to recall how she came to be there. When the black abyss of her memory proved impenetrable, she breathed slowly out to avoid hyperventilating as panic set in.

"What on _earth_ is going on?" She demanded cloud grey eyes wide with indignation a careful veil before the consuming terror of the unknown. Hook chuckled, offering the bottle to her. She sniffed at it, carefully turning her eyes away and returning it without a sip. Rum at sea was infamous, and she had no intention of making herself yet more vulnerable than she already was. No weapons, no clothes, her wit deserting her in the face of shock, her prospects weren't looking marvelous.

"I was hoping you might tell _me, _my beauty. My only action was to bring you in here when you were deposited to carefully and unconsciously on _my _deck."

"I- I don't remember-" She chewed on her lip viciously, eyes darting around Hook's cabin. It was as she remembered, as though no time had passed. As though the last six years had imprinted _no one _but her. Was she the only one to have suffered? The only one to remember, and feel that agony, every day of her life? Peter hadn't remembered her, that she had understood long ago. But the Captain could have had the decency to recall her. After all she had had a hand in killing him. Although she wasn't proud of it, she had taunted him, had hurt him. He should have _remembered _her, damnation. Hook, for his part, was too busy regarding the girl in his bed to care about the turmoil she was in, or about the passionate hatred he could just about sense emanating from her every pore. She had certainly grown. He hadn't recognized her at first, with her flared hips and narrow waist and delightful breasts concealed by her modest matron's nightdress.

"Tell me, then, Captain, how is it I come to be naked?" Her voice pierced the fog of nostalgia that muffled his senses. Hook shifted his eyes from her face to rove what of her body he could see, the smooth creamy neck and one bare shoulder where the cloak had slipped. As though sensing his gaze, she huddled under it further.

"Well, darling, you came at quite an inconvenient moment when my men and I were inland. You must have been on deck for hours, in the rain, and when I came to come across your beatific self, your lips were blue with the cold. I can assure you your virtue is intact- but you would have caught your death in those sodden… petticoats. They're over there if you really want them." He gestured dismissively over his shoulder. Wendy followed his gaze to find her nightgown wrent in two by a sharp implement from neck to hips. Her eyes darted sharply to the hook strapped to his forearm, and away with a blush that made the blood leave every other part of her body.

His story was likely enough. Although how she came to be in Neverland-_. _A smile spread over her lips like butter. Admittedly, her current position wasn't ideal, but she was still home. The _Jolly Roger_ was as much an intrinsic part of Neverland as Peter, or the Indians, the Mermaids.

"What is _that._" Hook suddenly murmured, breaking off her train of thought by reaching forward with his thumb to brush the right hand corner of her lower lip. She froze, eyes large and boring into his. "Ah, I remember. That _kiss._"

His thumb rubbed circles over her lower lip, eyes following the path of it as she watched him. He leant closer, his hook tangling in her curls. "How intriguing, my little Wendy."

When the cloak began to slip from her breasts as her hand circled his wrist, she snapped back into herself.

"_Stop."_ She demanded, clasping her hands to her chest and wrenching her chin back. "And I'm not yours, Captain."

Hook raised an eyebrow and leaned back again, swigging from his flask without taking his eyes off of her. "I was merely… looking, darling."

"Must you call me that?" She muttered angrily.

"Darling? It is your name, isn't it?" Wendy flushed as his voice caressed her surname like a promise.

"Not the way you say it. _Captain." _She said firmly, sitting up to cross her legs and gasping as cool air touched her bare back.

"My tone is hardly a cause for your concern, my dear." Hook smirked, before clapping his knees and sliding to his feet.

"I wish to leave." Wendy demanded suddenly, turning her face away to hide her burning cheeks. Her imperious tone struck a chord with Hook who glared down at her suddenly- this child who demanded him about his ship. Sudden anger roiled under his skin and he had to stop himself striking the girl.

"By all means," He murmured silkily, "But do leave my cloak. It's my favourite." Caught, she glared at him, hands tight around the velvet that was all that stood before what remained of her propriety. They glared into each other's eyes, and the years melted away. Six years ago they had been this close, pupils burning together with hatred and curiosity, the evening sun touching their hair and making them glitter with magic. With a snigger that broke the tension, he got to his feet, and began rooting around for clothes she could wear.

Wendy watched him warily as he moved about the cabin, glancing in shelves and chests. He was impeccable, moving like a cat without any unnecessary movements which would expend his energy, but with a swagger that betrayed his conceit through a ripple of hip muscle.

"How are you alive?" She asked suddenly, voice cracking from the strain. Hook glanced over his shoulder at her and shrugged once.

"I rent that crocodile from head to belly from the inside. The greedy bastard didn't bother chewing me, so it wasn't hard. I used the bloody hook it forced me to wear." He returned to his task. Wendy shivered once, imagining the fear of being trapped within that beast with nothing more than the limb you hated most for protection. She caught herself. This was _Hook_, the villain of her childhood, the evil incarnate who had tried to kill her when she was just twelve. He didn't require sympathy.

He turned back to her, a white cotton shirt of his over one arm that would drown her, a pair of green breeches in the other.

"Now I will give you these under one condition." He said silkily. Wendy rose to her feet, feeling vulnerable when curled up on this mans bed, her head on his pillow, and naked like one of his whores. She broke off that train of thought with a flash of embarrassment, holding the cloak carefully against herself.

"Oh, yes?" She asked just as lowly, eyes carefully blank, a technique she had learned in London: to make her spirit disappear behind a veil of eyelashes and empty smiles.

"You will, under no circumstance, hurt, maim, seduce, or in any other way manipulate any of my crew. And you will not attempt to murder me in my sleep- that is rather bad form. If you wish to kill me, I would rather you attempted on equal footing. Is that perfectly clear?"

"And I suppose I can expect the same in kind?" Wendy shrugged. Hook eyed her once.

"I suppose that would only be polite."

"Well, we're in agreement." Wendy thrust out her hand, which Hook took in a delicate shake. Pan would be furious. Hook smirked to himself, before tossing the clothes to Wendy and turning his back.

"Leave." She demanded, not relinquishing the cloak. Hook turned back to her, one eyebrow cocked.

"I return to my previous statement. Order me around my own ship again, my dear, and I will confiscate any items of clothing you might use to preserve your modesty and tie you to my mast. Is that clear?"

"You bastard." Wendy steamed before she could stop herself, taking one step towards the Captain whose lip was now curled into an inviting smile.

"Now, now, is that language fit for a parlour-room lady?" He chuckled, and, before leaving the cabin, turned, "Don't leave this room, my beauty; my men are all outside and haven't seen a woman like _you_ in a long time."

When he was safely away, Wendy, still fuming, carefully slid her arms into the shirt. Sure enough it was long enough to hit her mid-thigh, but she still felt naked until she had the breeches tight around her waist. She cinched them in using a piece of rope, and finger combed her flyaway hair. With Hooks words in mind, she didn't leave, but rather used the time to pad about the cabin barefoot, eyeing everything with a nostalgia that surprised her. The piano forte in the corner, the desk crammed with rolled scrolls and maps, the comforting red velvet touches here and there. Beneath the scent of clean linen was that of _Hook-_ rum and tobacco and sea salt. It wasn't unpleasant. When she had had her fill, she slid towards the one pothole with its seat underneath and relaxed into it, chin on knees. Peter was out there, somewhere.


	3. Chapter Two

When Smee appeared, Wendy was ravenous. Her mind had skirted the original delight at being home again, and was beginning to become racked with concern. What of her mother? How would she react to her disappearing again? Admittedly, she was no longer the twelve-year-old girl she had been, with two brothers in toe. And Mrs. Darling didn't seem to need her anymore. She had been her daughter. Now she wanted Wendy to grow into her own life, separate from her own sphere. The orange blossoms of marriage were foremost in her mind, as it was to any of her family. And she wasn't ready. She didn't _want_ to marry.

Tortuously she paced until Smee popped in, his round face lively with a bearded smile.

"Alrigh' ms. Darling? I have yer supper here, the Cap'n said he'll be along in a moment."

Wendy smiled at him politely, pleased despite herself to see him.

"Thank you, Smee."

He paced back and forth, plates heaving with flaky bread rolls, creamy pate, fruits and meats dripping with honey. Wendy watched, her eyes round with delight. Slowly, however, her expression lost its expression and fell into one of vague abandon. "Do you think…"

Smee glanced up to find her cloudy eyes glazed as she looked at a basket of green apples. He waited patiently.

"Do you think my mother would approve of my becoming a pirate?"

"Well, I don't know her."

"I don't know. She wouldn't I don't think. She might even be jealous." With a sigh that huffed her small frame, she sank down into a velvet covered chair and propped her chin on one fist. Her curls brushed her wrist as she slowly shook her head in thought. Smee picked up his feet and gave her a small smile.

"Well, either way, I know we'd be happy to have our Red Handed Jill back." Wendy smiled at him gratefully, a smile of such sweetness that Smee had to fight the urge to ruffle her curls. He reflected on the last time he had seen her- twelve years old in skirts dirty and ragged, eyes glowing with love for a boy who could never love her back. She had been flying, giggling, Pan dancing around her as he waltzed her home to London so she could live her life.

And here she was, back again. It broke his heart.

"Where's the Captain?"

Smee looked at her in some measure of surprise. There was unmistakable longing in her voice. If he remembered correctly, which he was sure he did, the last time Hook and Wendy had been near one another, she had been tied up and he had his hook under her throat.

"'E has business ashore."

"Oh." Loneliness. That was all. Wendy glanced up at Smee to find him sadly looking down at her and quickly brightened her features.

"Smee?" An unmistakable voice came from the doorway, an upper class drawl. Wendy quickly looked away from Smee, who turned at his Captain's bidding. "What are you doing in here?"

"Bringin' food in. Miss Wendy was just askin' where you were." Smee said carefully, mindful of the flash of something he saw in the Captain's eyes. Hook glanced once at the girl and chuckled lowly, taking off his hat and tossing it onto his bed. Wendy followed it with her gaze, before bringing her eyes curiously back to Hook again. She had never seen him without his hat. His tousled hair was windswept past his cheekbones.

Smee quietly left as Hook seated himself at the table, propping his feet on the desk so as to regard Wendy with refreshed interest. She carefully picked at her food, avoiding his gaze.

"So tell me, little Wendy, what have you been doing with yourself since our last… meeting." Hook grimaced as he contemplated the last time he had been this close to her, her breathing sharp and her soft curls brushing his palm as he held steel to her throat. She smirked at his discomfort, twirling a finger around the stem of her glass.

"I say we call ourselves even, Captain. You attempted to kill me, and I you."

"An admirable proposition. But you didn't answer my question."

"I've been… growing. Growing old, growing tired, growing dull." Wendy shut her eyes briefly, before sparkling them in Hook's direction. He regarded her silently a moment.

"Growing old and tired, perhaps, but never dull." A smile flashed across her lips as she sank her teeth into a green apple. Hook grinned in return, watching her lips scrunch against the tart fruit. "How old are you, ms Darling?"

"Eighteen last month," She replied quietly, "How about yourself, Captain? Seeing as age seems such a determinate factor in the world."

Hook contemplated for a moment, tapping one finger to his lips and taking a gulp from his rum.

"I'm not sure, I lost count. One good thing about Neverland is the inability to age, and therefore the lack of necessity to keep track of trifling matters such as age."

Wendy regarded him a moment, wide eyed, with something that looked as though it bordered on envy. Peter remaining at the age of thirteen seemed to lack glamour when compared to the possibility of being old enough to remain lucid and remember, forever. She did not doubt that he had forgotten her. He hadn't come to her home for spring cleaning for three years since. Hook on the other hand, he had known her even before she had known him. She glanced up to find his crystal blue eyes knowingly looking into hers as his lips wrapped around the flask in his one hand.

"That seems… reasonable."

"Thank you for your approval." He chuckled in return, lifting his boots from the table in order to reach the food Smee had so lovingly prepared for his leader. Wendy followed his cue and buttered a piece of bread, taking care to bite into it daintily rather than shove as much into her mouth as she wanted. A comfortable silence fell over the two as they dined, and Wendy found herself curiously watching the Captain from the corner of her eye whenever he wasn't looking. He ate with proper table manners, a napkin upon his knee, his coat hanging from the back of his chair to expose pristine shirtsleeves. One would not expect such manners from a pirate- a pirate captain no less. She supposed most wore ragged vests and swore over full mouths of meat and bread, and made a mental note to find out later. Hook, in return, watched her unabashed as she swallowed small bites and took small sips of her water, likewise marvelling at the change a companion with manners could bring to a meal. Since he had left Eton, the only men who were the same were those he had abandoned in London, oh, years ago. Yet she was no man, as he was painfully aware of as her breasts swelled beneath the linen of his too-big shirt.

He shook himself. This was _Wendy._ The original ideas of using her to hurt Pan still hovered on the fringes of his mind, he had expected the boy already at some point in the afternoon to investigate the rumours of a new female on his ship. He had made sure to spread the rumour himself through the Mermaids, the Indians, the Lost Boys. Pan must know. Perhaps he cared not at all. He would, though, when he found out _who_ it was.

Oblivious to his scheming, Wendy could only not the change in his stance. From easily relaxed he had tensed slightly, his eyes cooling to a darker blue as they glazed in thought. She, in turn, took a gulp from a wine goblet to steady her nerves.

"I don't know how I came to be in Neverland, and I do appreciate the hospitality, but I fear I will only take up space in your cabin. I will leave tomorrow to hunt for somewhere more suitable." She took another long drink from her wine, avoiding Hook with her eyes. He jerked his head around to look at her, and narrowed his eyes.

"Leave?" His voice was soft, "And go _where_ pray tell?"

"I could find Peter. I could find out why I came to be here and reverse it." Even as she said it, she felt a pang. She couldn't go back to London. But at the same time, she really would like to see her childhood friend, god, world. Peter hadn't come to find her, so she would go to him. Hook was still glaring in her direction, but he surprised her with a laugh.

"I think you'll find Peter quite different to how you remember, my dear. Age has a habit of altering the perceptions of the young." His eyes twinkled with mischief as he deliberately traced his eyes to her lips, her neck, and back again. "In the most part."

"Are you in habit of flirting with those you have previously attempted to murder, Captain?" She asked mildly, ignoring his eyes and swigging from her cup once again. The room was beginning to blur pleasantly. She had never tried spirits before, and she had a distinct feeling what she was drinking wasn't the same wine they had back in London.

"Of course- or else I would have no one left to flirt with."

"How flattering." Wendy snorted.

Hook smirked in reply, opened his mouth to reply, but before he could Wendy gave a yawn big enough to drown a crocodile in. He had noted the amount of alcohol she had consumed and was not surprised to see her gaze shifting from focus to glazed.

"I think it's time you slept, my dear." He swept to his feet, holding an arm out to her as gallantly as a lord. She yawned again, tears streaming, as she pressed one hand to her lips.

"I have slept all day, I don't see any reason to be tired." She murmured, sliding to her feet.

"You're recovering." He shrugged, turning his back to allow her to slip his breeches off and slide under the covers of his bed in full modesty. When he turned she was nestled into a pillow, her curls a halo around a sleepy face, covers to her chin. She shut her eyes in exhaustion, forgetting the pirate stood at the foot of his bed which she was residing in.

"Tell me a story." He murmured, and she felt a dip in the bed next to her and the warmth of another body under the covers. She kept her eyes shut, turning her face in his direction, smiling slightly.

"Odd, no one has wanted to hear my stories in years, and yet here is the infamous Captain James Hook asking for a bedtime story."

"From the infamous Red Handed Jill." He returned sarkishly.

"Oh, very well." She couldn't resist the demand for one of her tales. "Once upon a time, there was a girl- who had a stepmother whose evil was renowned throughout the kingdom…"

She spoke until her heavy eyelids shut, the lull of the _Jolly Roger_ rocking the occupants of the Captain's cabin dreamily to sleep on a wind of stories and intrigue.


	4. Chapter Three

They awoke to shouts. Wendy stirred, finding her cheek against something warm, something heavy on her hip. Edging her eyes open, she carefully glanced up to see what she knew she would. Captain James Hook was fast asleep, one arm curled around her, his hooked hand behind his head. Wendy was pressed against his chest, breath tickling the cloth of his shirt that he had worn to sleep. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, she extracted herself from his embrace, rolling over on her pillow to shut her eyes tightly and fein sleep. Another shout heard.

A moment later movement behind her on the bed made her slow her breathing carefully. She was aware of a gaze brushing her back, the blanket was adjusted, pulled up to warm her shoulders, and the Captain rolled away.

"Smee?" She heard him yell, his voice rough with sleep as he left the room, "What the hell is that din-?" Something cut him short, and she thought she heard a triumphant yell. Carefully, she slid the covers off herself and padded to a pothole, gazing out over the chink of the ship's deck that she could see. She hadn't yet left the cabin. The thought filled her with dread. But curiosity overcame her and, without preamble but to tug the Captains shirt further down her bare thighs, she pushed open the door to follow Hook.

The day was bright with promise, and it seemed the entire crew was out on the deck. Hook had his back to her, his feet bare, in his shirtsleeves, his pistol strapped carelessly to his hip. The rest of the crew faced her, and she became aware with a flush of a few nudges and smirks aimed in her direction.

Hook turned to see what had distracted his crew to find Wendy looking delectably sleepy, her curls ruffled, his shirt the only barrier between his eyes and her flesh. She was blushing at the crews attention, and seemed to be prepared to turn back into the cabin, when something over his head caught her eyes. She smiled suddenly, a flash of brightness on the gloom of the wood around her.

"Peter!" She sang, striding forward into the sunlight, her face turned upwards. Hook rolled his eyes.

"You must be Red Handed Jill." Pan pronounced grandly, twirling his dagger and cartwheeling in the sky. "Have at thee!" With a battle cry he prepared to swoop towards her with the sharp blade aloft. Hook glanced quickly at Wendy, to find her eyes suddenly narrow with something close to pain.

"Don't you recognise me, Peter?" She asked quietly, her hands falling to her sides. Pan drew himself short, the wind ruffling his short hair, eyes dancing with assurance as to his own brilliance. He continued to swoop past her with his dagger, narrowly missing on purpose for the delight of making her shriek. He had never killed a female pirate before. "Peter! Stop that at once!"

Something in her tone made Peter pull up short, and he narrowed his eyes at her, sheathing her dagger.

"It's Wendy. Wendy Moira Angela Darling. Don't you remember me, Boy?" She shook her head to avoid the tears that threatened.

"Don't be upset, ms Darling, Pan has a habit of forgetting." Hook drawled, his eyes burning into his nemesis. His pistol was ready in his hand. His crew was breathless as they watched the drama unfolding.

"Wendy?" Peter spoke the name like it was foreign. "Mother!"

With a wolf cry he swooped down to throw his arms around Wendy, his expression a jubilant expression of celebration.

"Mother! The Lost Boys have been _terrible_ in your absence. You must punish them immediately." He fell into the easy patterns of their game, twirling with forgetfulness, as though the last six years had never been. Wendy shrugged away her unease and smiled at the child as he danced around her. The familiar glow was missing.

"Where's Tinkerbell, Peter?" She inquired, holding his hands as he spun her in a dance.

"Who's that?" He shrugged, releasing her abruptly, "My, but you grew up Wendy. I preferred you before."

Shocked, Wendy stared at the boy before her.

"Tinkerbell? Tink? Your fairy?" She ignored his later remark. She didn't expect him to like the new her. Hook, on the other hand, grimaced as he carefully avoided looking at the delightful curves that were so evident beneath his shirt- changes he most certainly preferred.

"Oh, fairy's die quickly. I expect she left a while ago." Peter shrugged again, before sliding his dagger from its sheath once more to point at Hook. "How dare you kidnap my Wendy! I'll gut you for this, pirate, and feed the rest of you to whatever creature I can find!"

Blinking back her shock, Wendy turned her attention to the pair suddenly facing their weapons towards one another. Six years ago, she would have a sword aimed at Hook herself as she floated with Peter. Now, she wore the Captain's shirt and found herself warily eyeing Peter with dismay. She wondered why Hook didn't shoot.

"You'll do no such thing, Peter- the Captain has done nothing but show me hospitality." She said sternly to the thirteen year old, hands on her hips. Peter didn't even glance at her, but swooped forward to slash his dagger at Hook. Hook did not shoot, but stepped back, glancing at Wendy. She suddenly understood- he didn't want to kill her childhood love in front of her. "Peter! Stop _now."_

"Yes mother." He smirked, sheathing his dagger once more, "But come now! I'll rescue you, mother!" With a dramatic swoop into his tunic he pulled out a familiar bag.

"No, no, Peter, not now." She gabbled, stepping back and holding her hands up to ward of the fistful of sparkling dust that Peter had.

"Yes, now!" He demanded, pouting like a spoilt child, as he threw the handful over Wendy. Hook cursed, and leapt forward, but not fast enough as Wendy shot into the air like a cannon.

"Peter!" She shrieked, only to have her hands grasped by smaller, warm, sticky hands to drag her through the air.

"Think happy thoughts. Honestly, Wendy, if you've forgotten that much I should just let you fall." He glared at her, his good humour suddenly souring. Wendy glared back at him, feeling herself dip as she did so.

"I never asked you to bring me up here in the first place!" She shrieked back, desperately kicking at nothingness. She was aware of Hook barking orders below her, but was helpless to do anything but allow Peter to tow her away.

_My God, I've forgotten to fly!_ The thought made her amused for some extraordinary reason. The air flew by as she headed towards the jungle. A pierce of recognition burst into her heart like a rainbow as she watched the familiar landscape grow larger beneath her- the jungle, the lagoons, the Indian camp. And there- the largest tree, the treehouse. Peter pushed the special button only children know how to find and the compartment snicked open.

"Peter, I hardly think I'll fit anymore." She said, but before she could climb out, Peter had pushed her down. The bark scraped her legs and tore the skin, bruised her hips and breasts and led her to scream shortly in pain. It was made for children. She landed in a painful heap at the bottom.

"Look who I've rescued!" Peter said triumphantly as he followed. The Lost Boys regarded her with surprise, silent, before Tootles piped up, "It's mother!" Before she could speak, Wendy found herself surrounded by faces and voices, sticky hands pressing into her and high voice demanding stories.

"Children! Quiet, immediately!" She demanded, straightening to her feet to give herself the advantage of height. They watched her adoringly, eyes depraved of love, of sustenance. There were at least ten she had never seen before. Ten more families torn apart. Ten more mothers sobbing by open windows.

"Now, have you been taking your medicine since I've been away?" She asked in her best bossy voice, playing along for the time being. The blood on her skin was sticky and stung like the blazes. Voice clamoured around her again and Peter lounged on his bed with his eyes cheerfully watching her over the melee of heads. "No? Well that _simply _won't do! Medicine and bed for all you naughty children!"

Fifteen minutes later, if time were to pass in Neverland, the children were tucked into their respective beds with breath smelling of their 'medicine' of flower nectar mixed with water. Peter was awake, bouncing with excitement.

"Peter, I'm bleeding. Do you have any bandages?" She asked softly, stemming one particularly deep cut with her hand and wincing as she did so.

"Have some medicine." He said cheerfully, not looking up from his pan-pipes.

"This isn't part of the game, I need bandages or these will become infected."

Peter glared at her. Wendy abruptly silenced herself with a huff as his blue eyes flashed dangerously.

"You're no fun." He whined, turning his back to her. His skin was taught over the sharp bones of his shoulder blades. Wendy repressed the urge to slap him, and instead contented herself with salvaging a dirty piece of cloth from the floor to wrap around her arm.

"I need to back to the _Jolly Roger,_ Peter." She murmured softly, to cover the anger that was pulsing under her skin.

"But I just rescued you!" Peter gasped, spinning and shooting into the air to come at a rest with his dirty feet by Wendy's face. She slapped them away and glared up at the imp, biting back a gulp of pain.

"You didn't rescue me, I didn't need rescuing! And there perhaps I wouldn't have been skinned half to death because of your mindless _insolence._" The glow of lamps played across the smooth skin of Peter's skin, and abruptly Wendy felt like crying. She had spent the last six years of her life wanting to be here. There, there was where Michael's crib had hung, and there in the hollow of the tree where Tink had slept at night. The beds were in the same places with the checked blankets she herself had fashioned and washed lovingly, and if she weren't mistaken and she squinted, she could see the dusty glimmer of her thimble in a forgotten corner. She lifted a hand to the right hand corner of her lip.

A thimble wasn't what she wanted, or needed. Peter was a past that was golden and perfect as an apple, but he was no future. He was no more than a malicious and spoilt child. Sadly, Wendy watched Peter dart around the room as angrily as a fly.

"Why did you cut off Hook's hand?" She asked, abruptly aware that she had never asked. Peter laughed suddenly, his bad humour passing as he remembered that day.

"It was the first time I saw him—he was playing the piano and I went to the ship to explore. He pressed the wrong note," Peter broke off to guffaw, "So I cut off his hand so he couldn't do it again!"

Sudden speechless horror welled up inside Wendy.

"You mean… he didn't… _provoke _you?"

"He didn't what?" Peter regarded her vaguely, "I took it outside and fed it to the crocodile while he was still bleeding all over the keys of his piano. He _screamed._" With a final shriek of laughter he swooped through the air to land on his bed, shaking with a laughter too manical to be normal. Wendy sat silently for a moment, regarding the vivid red on the pale skin of her arms.

"I have to go." She stood, willing herself to think of something happy, but she found she could not. "Help me, would you?"

"Go _where?_" Peter demanded, hands on hips. Wendy sighed and shrugged, turning to begin her painful climb out of the tree. As quickly as he had cared, Peter forgot, and flopped back on his bed to sleep.

When she reached the surface, she was shaking with exhaustion and pain, chewing on her lip to keep from screaming. Tears poured down her cheeks. She began the long hike to the lagoon with dry sobs racking her lungs.


	5. Chapter Four

After what felt like hours, Wendy collapsed in a heap of pain and blood. The skin of her feet was torn and bloodied, her hands grazed from numerous falls, skin raw from Peter pushing her into the tree. One cut in particular, on her arm, bled uncontrollably, a redness that dripped through the dirty cloth she had tied around it.

She lay one the jungle floor with tears seeping from below her eyelashes. From past experience in Neverland she knew sleeping in the open was a horrific idea, but tiredness and dizziness had overcome her. No doubt Peter had forgotten all about her. Again. Carefully she climbed onto all fours and began crawling, slowly, painfully, her knees slicing open on rocks that she could barely feel in her dizziness.

Sand. Gritty, soft, powdery sand below hand her hands. She kept going, blinded by tears, until water licked her palms, when she stopped and lay in a puddle of flesh. A moan of pain escaped her lips. No one disturbed her for a long time. She lay in the shallows of the lagoon as still as though she was dead.

"Capt'n, I think I found her!" A yell came from somewhere to her left. She cracked her eyes open to see a pirate sprinting away from her, ragged trousers and striped vest all she could make out from this angle. "Capt'n!"

"Wendy!" A roar. Hands were on her, stroking hair from her eyes, gently slapping her cheeks.

"James?" She groggily replied, noting a black lock of hair above her face. A low chuckle.

"Did you just call me James? You must feel as bad as you look, my dear."

She didn't bother to reply, but shut her eyes again and let her head loll under the weight of living. Hook cursed and she heard him briskly ordering the crew around as he cradled her to his chest and marched towards what she assumed was a row boat. The men jumped to it, afraid after the last day of their Captain's anger to put a toe out of line.

Cool air stroked her flushed cheeks. She was being gently rocked.

"What on earth did the blasted boy do to you?" Wendy stirred against his chest, suddenly aware that she must be bleeding all over his pristine clothes. He held her still, eyeing the cuts ringing her arms, legs and chest wearily.

"He forgot." She whispered painfully, and a single tear squeezed from under one eyelid to fall in a sparkling trail to her lip. Hook trapped it with one finger and brushed it away, as still as a diamond on his index finger in the moonlight. He regarded it curiously momentarily, before flicking it into the sea. Perhaps that was all it was- the library of tears of the world.

"He will always forget, because he's not really real."

"He's as real as you or I."

"No, ms Darling, he is as unformed as a child forever with no imprint other than to cause pain. That is no existence. Don't cry for the boy. You have enough liquid leaking out of your body without tears as an addition."

The tears stemmed, much to the crew's relief. When they reached the _Jolly Roger_ Hook threw Wendy over one shoulder and scaled the ladder, walking straight to his cabin without breaking stride.

"Water, Smee, warm. And cloths, and some rum."

Warm air caressed her skin as Hook lay her on his bed and began unbuttoning the shirt she wore. Even in her state she slapped his hands away, much to his amusement.

"I need to be able to see your skin, my dear."

"Not that much skin." She returned, arranging the shirt so he could reach her legs and a narrow slice of chest. Hook rolled his eyes and carefully used his hook to tear the shirt at the shoulders, pulling the arms slowly away to create a vest. Smee entered with a bucket of warm water and a bundle of clean linen.

Hook tended to her body cuts first, leaving her arm for last. He washed them with water before cleaning them out with rum, leading Wendy to bite away the pain, her drowsiness chased away by the sharp sting.

"Have a nip of this, miss." Smee handed her a flask swilling with liquid. Wendy took a swig. The rum burned a path down her throat.

"How revolting." She grimaced, corking the bottle and handing it back. Hook smirked and pinched her skin purposefully, making her leap towards the flask again with a yelp.

"Needle, please, Smee." He said pleasantly, holding out his one hand. Wendy jerked in fear, scrambling away from the two men.

"Needle?" She yelped.

"For your arm."

"But-"

"I have to seal it or you may lose your arm. It's got half of Neverland inside it." Hook firmly pressed Wendy to the bed and allowed Smee to thread the needle for him. She began struggling beneath him.

"On second thoughts, Smee, why don't you do it." Hook muttered, leaning his full weight on Wendy to prevent her from moving. Smee shrugged and leaned forward.

"Wait! Can I have some more rum?" She asked in a small voice. Hook raised an eyebrow but nodded to Smee, who fished out his flask and poured a little into Wendy's waiting mouth. A little more. A little more.

"That'senough, you're only a little thing." Smee said anxiously, glancing up at Hook who was watching with amusement. While she was distracted, Smee jerked the needle into the delicate skin of her arm.

"God!" She shrieked, kicking with her bare legs as pain lanced up to her shoulder. "Hook, you bastard."

"Language, darling." He smirked, scooping her wrist into his palm and pressing her into the covers. Wendy hissed in pain and resisted the urge to spit in his smug face.

"I understand you're happy I learned to see your way about Peter, but if you could resist the bloody smug expression, I would be very thankful." Wendy steamed, her expression livid. They connected their eyes, hers passionately angry, his slightly amused.

"Done!" Smee proclaimed, cutting the thread and stepping out of limb range. Wendy moaned as grateful as she had ever been, and wriggled away from the Captain. She grabbed the flask again and upended it into her waiting mouth, pain drawing away any good sense she had. The two men watched her speechless as she downed the bottle as well as any accomplished drinker.

"Drunk both evening's she's spent in my cabin- I'm hardly a good influence." The Captain murmured under his breath. Smee stifled a laugh and nodded his head to the two.

"Shall I leave you two to it, capt'n?"

"If you would." Hook shrugged, seating himself at his desk. Wendy crossed her legs and drew the shirt closed to her neck, cringing as she tugged on the stitching on her arm, still sipping from the flask as Smee left. "Any more vices you would care to learn, ms Darling?"

"Oh, I don't know, gluttony has always seemed amusing enough." Wendy's eyes drifted around the cabin, absurdly comforted by the room. Firelight flickered, catching the deep velvety wood of chocolate and nut browns, the scent of the sea and linen warring with that of the alcohol she held in her hand. Hook had his feet up, his hat off, his coat on the back of his chair, as his eyes traced a piece of paper in his hand absent mindedly. With his eyes still on the paper he reached behind him, drawing a slim cigarette into his fingers to be lit on a candle on his desk.

"Do you mind?" He asked, out of habit more than anything, already drawing it between his lips. Wendy shrugged, never having seen such a thing before. In London the only tobacco products were the fat cigars that bankers chewed between yellowed teeth.

"Another vice?" She inquired quietly, chewing on her lip as she watched a snake of smoke slither towards the sky.

"One I enjoy immensely."

Suddenly and abruptly bored, Wendy got to her feet and wandered to the pothole with the window ledge beneath it. She sat and drew her legs up to her chin, a position her body was familiar with due to the regularity with which she used to sit like this in her nursery, eyes trained on the starry horizon. Even when the sun had been up, or a cloud covering as thick as cotton had masked the heavens, her eyes had strained to see beyond.

_Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning._

From here, the skies were very different. The colours of the night shifted through a myriad of blacks and blues, a shimmer of dusky pinks sparkling the sky like a distorted aurora. Stars of glossy red and gold sparkled like a scatter of a broken necklace against velvet in a pattern as alien to her world as could be. The Milky Way? Andromeda? Who knew? Who cared?

What was the point in gazing for a dream that was already granted?

Her bare feet curled against the smooth wood of the cabin floor where they were planted firmly, swaying with the movement of the glossy water, feeling as though roots sprouted through the ground, through the sea, deep, deep into the sands of Neverland. Roots that sprouted in her ribcage and sprouted flowers of delight under her collar bones.

With a happy sigh, Wendy traced the glass with her fingertips.

"Stop daydreaming uselessly, ms Darling, it's not helping anyone." An impatient voice behind her drawled. With a snort she turned.

"I believe you're suffering under the false impression that you own me, Captain."

"No false impression required. I own everyone on my ship."

"If I am not a member of your crew, I am not your consented worker, and thereby you do not." Wendy raised one eyebrow and crossed her arms, the buzz of alcohol making her bolder than she would be normally. Hook's eyes were almost cool, she noticed, drifting in and out of focus behind a haze of cigarette smoke.

"But you are, by consent, on my ship. I am extending hospitality to a degree that you are staying in my cabin rather than going below with my men. I own you for as long as you remain in such a position." His tone was almost dispassionate, "Let us not forget that without me you would have died twice already."

"In that case I will impress on your hospitality no longer." Wendy strode to the door with a sudden, single minded determination to prove the Captain to shame. His sudden cool attitude didn't hurt her, she had been expecting it from the moment she had first opened her eyes, it was his warmth that had shocked her. Finally, he was beginning to behave as she respected, allowing her to predict his next moves. His 'good Samaritan' behaviour had thrown her off for a while.

"I do believe you just _escaped _Pan to be here."

"An apparent momentary lapse in judgement." She put her hand on the door knob and started to turn it, when a hand slammed into it and cold metal was at her throat. She held her breath. Hook breathed onto the nape of her neck.

"You are incredibly stubborn."

"Get your claw away from me."

A sharp intake of breath from behind her, but Wendy could not bring herself to regret her words. The last time she had been in this position she had been twelve years old. At eighteen she was damn sure she wasn't going to behave in the same respect. She turned her face towards his, which was above her right shoulder, and gave the coldest glare she could muster.

"Is this the point where you ask for a story, Captain? Let me see if I recall. Once upon a time there was a boy named Peter Pan who decided not to grow up." Hooks eyes narrowed at her familiar words, the cold metal digging into her throat as he struggled to understand the implications behind her words. "Or shall I skip the prologue?"

"What are you doing?" He asked lowly, bringing his one hand to grasp her wrists together.

"No, I shan't skip the bloody prologue, because they are largely the most intriguing and intricate works of background to a tale. What's your prologue? What's _our_ prologue, Captain? Where does this tale begin?" She spun, her nose inches from his as he watched her through wary blue eyes. "When I was twelve years old and a marvellous boy decided to rescue me from the drudgery of the ordinary? When I first saw you, hiding behind a boulder at the Black Castle? When you tried to push me to my death, or when I pushed you to yours? Or perhaps it began one night not too long ago when for some extraordinary reason my childhood was thrust back upon me and I arrived with no reason on your ship?" Wendy took a deep breath, her cheeks flushed with the relief of purging this anger that had been buried in her soul for so long.

"I was just a pale shadow in London, my stories all seem to revolve and are remembered for this _place._ Do not think to flatter yourself that I have chosen you above Peter, I have purely decided to remain where I feel vivid enough to slip through life as happily as a drug. Peter was my past. Peter is a spoiled child whose memory has been soiled by the maturity of my eyes. You are all that remains in Neverland, which, consequently and most depressingly, means you are all remains in the good of my life."

Tears pricked her eyes and, with a gust of air that was relief and pain and fear entwined with together, she dropped her face to Hooks shirt front and sobbed.

"Pirates and Indians and flamingo's flying over shifting lagoons taking place of the bankers and housewives and town houses. Acorns and thimbles replacing kisses. Flying and magic replacing the drudgery of a carriage and the relief of forgetting in place of the pain of remembering." She gasped the words between sobs, and slowly became aware that Hook had released her hands, which were knotted in the velvet of his coat front. His hand stroked her curls, the other at her waist, as, with that, Captain James Hook and Wendy Moira Angela Darling began to understand one another.


	6. Chapter Five

With Wendy sobbing onto Hooks chest, her breathing sharp pants that made her spine as rigid as a brittle piece of bark, he found himself contemplating. When she had sat before the window, gazing out of the window, something inside him had snapped. He had seen, suddenly, what she had been doing for the past six years by the easy way her body had slipped into its familiar position. No doubt she had been waiting for Pan by the fabled _window_ of her nursery that all in Neverland now knew about.

His plan to use her to lure Pan to the ship hadn't quite worked. When the child had been before him with Wendy's eyes meltingly warm with delight, he realised that to put a bullet in his skull so simply would hardly be the revenge he had always wanted. Pan was too unaware, in his distraction that his _mother_ was there. Hook wanted him to _know_ he was going to die. He wanted to him to die empty and rejected.

A new plan had formulated in his head. The distraction had caused him to speak frankly to Wendy, and so her retaliation was not entirely unexpected. What _was_ unexpected was her little speech, and the passion of her disquiet.

_You are all that remains in Neverland, which, consequently and most depressingly, means you are all that remains in the good of my life._

The sadness in her tone was what made him hold her. Her eyes were dead and cold in misery, shielded by a pain that he was all too familiar with.

_The relief_ _of forgetting in place of the pain of remembering._ She had really hit it on the head with that one. That was the core of his hatred for Pan. His oblivion. His sweet insensibility. While he remained cripplingly in the jaws of remembrance. Even the memories of Wendy were sharp in his mind, as she was at twelve years old even as he held the woman of eighteen. Cloudy eyes sparking with indignation as he insulted Pan, just as they had now when he insulted her. Curls flying long in the wind just as now they were cut to her nape and still with the warmth of firelight. The child she had been, the vivid child who remembered her duty, and the woman she was, the tired woman, who didn't care. Most would be the other way around, which is what made her so remarkable.

He stroked her hair again with his one good hand, the pain of an internal rift tearing him apart. Wendy stemmed her sobs, thankful for the silence. Similarly to the Captain, indecision was tearing her apart. Here was a villain. A villain who wanted to use her against Peter- of that she had no qualms. Why else would he have given that shout of victory when he had appeared on deck? He thought he owned her, he was rebellious, damning and a bastard. And yet she had no concerns about having his arms around her in comfort.

She pulled away. He dropped his arms. Neither was sure which came first.

"My life has left me uniquely unfit for constraint." She murmured. Hook looked down at her quizzically. She shrugged, unsure herself of what she meant.

"Don't threaten to leave my ship again, or I'll be forced to come after you yet again. And I don't like to waste my time."

Wendy shrugged, suddenly listless, and drifted away from him in a daze of light headedness.

"It's not like I _chose _to go." She muttered like an angry child, but both knew that in other circumstances she would have chosen to leave with the boy. If she had been fully dressed, if he hadn't forgotten who she was, if he hadn't forgotten that damnable fairy. She slid into his bed and pulled the covers over her head, sick to death of conversation that made her head spin. Hook regarded her still form as she piled a pillow over her head and, equally sick, turned to the documents on his desk.

The next day, Wendy awoke to a bed that was cold and empty outside her own cocoon. She stirred, grimacing at her headache and the dry coat of blood that still caked her skin. The torn shirt was ragged and stank. Carefully, to avoid hurting herself, she lifted her head. Hook was asleep at his desk. A bath lay steaming in the corner. Smee must have filled it as they slept.

Without waiting for permission, Wendy slipped behind the screen in front of the bath and stripped off the stinking rag. The hot water was agonisingly delicious. She kept her stitched arm aloft, shuddering in pain before lowering it into the heat. She stifled a moan of delight.

After an all too brief few moments of soaking, she scrubbed at her skin, removing layer after layer of dust and sand. She stopped only when she realised the remaining smudges were bruises. Clean, she ducked under the water and quickly washed her face and hair with a cake of soap left on the side of the bath. The feeling of cleanliness is one particularly akin to pure, unadulterated happiness.

Sweet smelling, Wendy climbed out of the bath, grimacing at the blood and dirt stained water. Her skin had clotted delightfully. Smee had even left a pile of new clothes for her, which she looked through as she dried. A pair of breeches which even looked her size. Another of the Captain's linen shirts. A belt. She pulled them on, feeling slightly indecent in the narrow legged pegs of the legs which were like a second skin. The shirt layered over the top was looser and the belt served to hold the flapping material to her waist. She had to roll the sleeves seven times to make them reach her elbows.

_If only mother could see me now._ Wendy suppressed a giggle as she glanced down at her bare feet.

Poking her head out to make sure that Hook was still sleeping, she crept from the cabin.

The crew as a whole didn't pause as she padded out. She received a couple of curious glances. On her disappearance with Peter the captain had been in even less of a good humour than usual, her reappearance was one they had not been expecting.

She gazed across the ship, trying to spot a familiar old man.

"Miss Wendy!" A voice called. She glanced down to find him puffing and beaming as he came towards her. "Come to tell us a story?"

The surrounding crew paused at this declaration, their eyes suddenly delighted. Wendy supressed a giggle as, like a group of school children, they began clambering for favourites somehow remembered from the long six years ago.

"Tha' one with tha' girl, y'know the one, she had a shoe made of glass-"

"-with the red cloak, and the wolf, who-"

"-poisoned apples to stop her 'cause she was-

"-pirates who had them adventures-"

"Stop! Stop!" Wendy held up a hand as she had when silencing the Lost Boys, her eyes glittering, "One at a time, please!"

Red Handed Jill worked her way through her repertoire of tales as the crew of pirates sat around her.

From Cinderella to Snow White, from Aladdin to Sinbad, her own creations and those her mother had relayed to her, she drew on every ounce of her storytelling skill. Her awaiting crowd was breathless, crying at the sad moments and whooping at the happy endings. Halfway through her relaying of the tale of the Irish Pirate Queen, a pirate got to his feet indignantly.

"No offense, miss, but no woman can ever wield a sword well enough to figh' the bloody armada, no matter how big 'er crew is."

"Is that so?" Wendy got to her feet with a flourish, her hands wide in invitation, "Why don't you prove your statement with your sword, sir? Grace O'Malley was acknowledged by Queen Elizabeth I to be the _finest_ fighter _she_ had ever seen."

The pirate grinned suddenly, showing the gaps in his teeth, and he grabbed his own sword from his belt and tossed her a spare.

"Bloody women!" He cried good naturedly, spitting onto the planks below their feet.

Wendy grasped it between loosely, as she remembered Peter had taught her, stance widening into that of a fighter. Before she could draw breath the pirate was already slashing at her with steel.

She blocked his blows as pirates scrambled out of the ways, catcalling her opponent and cheering her on. As the fight wore on, the man she was fighting began calling out pointers which she gratefully assumed- to widen her legs, slash _through _not _to,_ hold the sword lower, aim for the heart when he blocked… Others began joining until Wendy found herself being tutored in the art of swordplay by sixty odd men. She laughed breathlessly as they stepped the deadly dance, poking each other good naturedly to avoid damage and hacking at the air between them. The planks danced beneath her toes as she danced forward and back.

Her opponent tired until, with a shriek of victory, she managed to slap the flat of her sword against his chest. With a dance of victory she spun.

"Don' get cocky!" He guffawed and renewed his attack.

James Hook, meanwhile, was awoken by shrieks and yells coming from his crew. He jerked up, disorientated for a moment by his position at his desk. His bed was empty. Wendy was nowhere to be seen.

With a curse he jolted towards the door, the screams and yells of his crew holding a new and terrifying twist. His pistol was already in his hand.

He crashed out of his cabin and glared down at his deck, pistol already trained on the men, when something held him up short. Wendy was well, more than well, her eyes glittering with delight and her short curls tousled in the wind as she danced across the wood. He had expected something decidedly more sinister. Instead of hurting her, his crew seemed to be clapping her, cheering and laughing and calling out advice as she played with swords with her opponent. With a giggling that overcame her concentration, Wendy seemed to be doing little more than darting out of his arms reach in order to tire him. Hook lowered his pistol and raised an eyebrow. No one in his crew had noticed him. Usually when he stepped out of the cabin they saw him immediately, eyes already trained on the cabin in order to be ready the moment he would step into the sunlight out of fear.

Wendy managed to jab the sword at his ribs again when the crowd fell silent. The eyes of her opponent widened with fear and his face paled immediately. Wendy felt a shadow pass over her and turned to see Hook regarding her. She froze, suddenly aware that she was barefoot and loose haired, fighting with his crew and exulting in their cheers like a commoner. With a sheepish smile she dropped the point of her sword and hid it behind her back, eyes darting back and forth for a means of escape.

"Good morning, Captain." She said pleasantly, straightening her shoulders. Suddenly struck, she realised that she had no idea how the Captain viewed her after last night.

"Ms Darling." He returned, eyes dragging down from her eyes to her hand and back again. He stepped forward slowly. Wendy held her ground, heart thumping.

Hook spun her around to face the man she had been fighting and used his one hand to position her arm in a lower position, rearranging her fingers to avoid the pommel becoming caught on the heel of her hand. Wendy didn't breath. With his hook he reached around her and down to tug her right leg away from her left in a widened stance.

"Much better. And keep your chin up."

He stepped away. The crew heaved a sigh of relief, and Wendy was left watching him over her shoulder. He stamped back to his cabin.

"Sorry, Chink, I think I should go." She said with a smile to the man. Chink nodded in return and took her sword with a flourish and an endearingly crooked grin.

With a wave to the crew and a smile she jogged up to follow Hook.

"Captain, wait." She called as the door began shutting in her face. It stopped and a shadowed face reappeared, expression unreadable.

"Ms Darling?"`

"I hope you don't mind my-"

"Why on earth should I mind?" He interrupted, one eyebrow raised, his hand reaching into his breaches to extract another of his slim cigarettes. He lit it deftly with one hand with a contraption that sprouted fire like a flower, never taking his eyes off her. Wendy shrugged, confused by his demeanour, although he was not sure why she should be. After she had screeched him half to death last night she was surprised she wasn't in chains dangling from the plank.

"Well, now that's cleared up," He shrugged again, taking a drag and blowing an elegant spiral of smoke from his lips, "I have business ashore. Can I trust you not to sleep with half my crew in my absence?"

Wendy's eyes widened as though she had been slapped, cheeks flushing.

"How _dare-_" She began, before pulling herself up short. "Well, I'll try to resist. But I suppose you'll be wanting your shirt back, I'm sorry I stole it." Wendy sighed, with a shrug, and begun undoing the buttons by her neck. Hook raised one eyebrow, but did nothing to stop her as she slowly slid open his shirt and turned to stare wistfully over the sea while steadily exposing her breasts to his crew- and not him.

Before she could actually open her shirt, however, a hand was on her elbow and was hauling her backwards into the Captain's cabin. With a smirk she rapidly slid the buttons back into place and loftily tossed her head.

"Damn you." He stormed, pushing her down into a chair and standing over her with his arms crossed.

"Well, if you accuse me of behaving like a whore I might as well live up to your high expectations." She spat as he glared down at her. Hook's eyes narrowed, before widening with smug satisfaction.

"I go from being the happiest thing in your life to your pimp in one night."

"I was _drunk. _And in_ pain._" Wendy shrieked, leaping to her feet and stabbing the captain in the chest with one finger, "And you are not, by any stretch of the imagination, my _pimp._ You vulgar, worthless, salt-stained, liver-rotten-"

"Now, there's no need to get creative." Hook rolled his eyes, marginally impressed as the girl continued to steam abuse at him. He smirked again as the insulted look in her eye only grew to epidemic levels and her smooth cheeks flushed a darker pink. "Breath, ms Darling. You're beginning to resemble my coat."

Wendy inhaled a huge gust of air, before screaming in frustration, and marching out of the cabin, hurling insults over her shoulder as she went.

Hook's good humour cooled as the prospect of her insulting him in front of his men became a fearful reality. He followed her, eyeing her carefully as she continued to spout ridiculously plumped affronts. When she reached the railing of the ship edge she spun, careless of the crew, her curls springing with her anger.

"And, on top of that, you feel the need to constantly watch and wait for me to go running off to Peter as though you're afraid to lose to a spoilt _child._" She finished, panting slightly, lips parted with the effort. Without pausing, ignoring the men who gawped at them, Hook marched straight forward and backed Wendy against the ship wall. She sucked in a breath, cheeks still flushed.

"I have no such insecurities, my dear, I do not fear losing you to that boy." Hook lowered his voice, pressing her body into the wood with his own and smirking into expression, "You're far too intelligent to use him to get back at me." Wendy's grey eyes were bright with irritation, lips half open in protest and mere inches from Hook's face.

Without allowing her to return to her previous insults and shame him in front of the rest of his crew yet again, he closed the distance between them and touched his lips gently to the secret kiss nestled in the right hand corner of her mouth. Wendy gave a sharp intake of breath against his skin and tilted her head to the side as he traced the corner of her mouth with his tongue. His nose pressed into her cheek. The cold steel of hook met the warmth of his hand on her back.

"This is a kiss. Not thimbles and acorns. And this is why you will always choose me over Pan." Hook murmured against her lip, eyelashes brushing her brow. Wendy opened her eyes sharply at his arrogance and pushed him away with an almighty shove.

"Must you be so insecure of your adequacy to compete with a thirteen year old?" She snapped, her delicate skin pale with frustration. The Captain regarded her through hooded eyes, before snapping his hand up. Wendy glanced at the pistol in his hand without comprehension for a snap second, before mentally rolling her eyes.

"Get off my ship." His voice was low, dangerous, the flat glimmer of his pistol sparkling nearly as much as the glitter of his eyes. Wendy traced her eyes from it, up to his eyes, and back again.

"With pleasure." She returned, her chin high and her hands crossed. Neatly, without another word, she turned and dived straight into the awaiting sea without waiting for Hook to lose impatience and put a bullet in her skull.

Hook cursed.


	7. Chapter Six

The water was colder than she expected, and it knocked the breath from her when she landed with a spray of bubbles into the salty waves. It seemed through her curls into her scalp, clung her shirt to her body and stung the cuts that ringed her skin.

And yet she could not prevent the feeling of amused triumph that welled up inside her.

She kicked her legs, without having broken the surface, grasping the water to shoot forward. Her lungs burned. When she could take it no more she kicked hard, shooting upwards to suck in a gulp of oxyen.

"Wendy!" A roar behind her, more angry than she had ever heard him. She glanced over her shoulder, to find Hook leaning against the ship wall, wind ruffling his dark hair and eyes red with impatience. He was still in his shirtsleeves, sunlight glinting on the steel of his hook, with men storming to watch her. Without pausing she continued onwards in an educated front crawl, fighting the current towards land.

Hook, for his part, had watched the girl dive beneath the water in a fit of shock. It hadn't lasted long. James Hook hadn't become captain through indecision. When her dark head had popped above the surface she was already metres away and steadily moving further, water plastering her hair to her head and making her shirt as see through as a window. He had roared her name. He was sure she had turned, but she didn't pause.

"Smee, my coat. Get the row boat in the water and ten men to row." The crew leapt to their jobs, his tone one all too familiar. Sure enough one man was too slow and ended with the bullet intended for Wendy in his back.

In the time it took Hook to organise a boat and reach the shore, Wendy was already tearing through the jungle. Her bare feet stung, but after her various jaunts they were beginning to toughen to a degree that the wood and stones beneath her feet were bearable. The wind combed through her hair and clothes, steadily drying them to a degree that she could sustain her modesty. She repeatedly looked over her shoulder, but there was no sign of followers. She slowed to a jog, then a walk.

A giggle welled up inside her. A game. Life was just a game. Wendy began to look around and take in her surroundings, pushing damp curls from her forehead. Neverland was not large. A brief run could get people a long way. The mountains surrounding Cannibal Cover were at her back. She thought she had been heading the other way, towards Mermaid Lagoon, but that would mean-

An arrow whizzed past her ear.

Wendy cursed. She froze.

The Indian paused, his bow against his ear, as the high tone of the Pirate struck a chord. A woman? Sure enough, when he squinted, the figure did indeed resemble a girl, before she began lightly springing away in a panic like a gazelle.

Fedha stopped the girl, melting away from the bushes where she had been hiding to wrap her strong arms around her and hold her still. The girl shrieked when the figure appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and seemed to be begging, although the language was unfamiliar to them. Fedha looked over the curly head at her brother in surprise, her dark eyes semi-amused.

"What do you say, Jian?" She laughed in their own language, ignoring the girl as though she was not there.

"Not a pirate, as we'd thought."

"Perhaps. I hear a rumour they had a new girl on board." Fedha shrugged, pushing Wendy towards her brother to hold as she fished around in her pocket pouch. "Still, a more interesting find than a deer."

Wendy was breathing heavily, but she silenced herself when they began speaking in a language she had heard before just once. There was a girl and a boy. She was pretty, her long dark hair in a plait that reached her hip, with eyes that were an astonishing shade of silvery grey, set high in a face like a cat. He, contrastedly, was short and sturdy with arms like tree trunks as they held her still. The girl reached into her pouch to draw out a small round object that looked like bread, which she handed slowly to Wendy as though to avoid her fear.

"I- thank you. I'm afraid I have nothing to offer you." Wendy said quietly, taking the bread and glancing between the pair. The boy slowly released her, making pacifying gestures with his hands. In a gesture that she hoped was universal throughout the worlds, Wendy tore the bread in two, offering half to the girl.

A beatific smile answered her gesture, and the girl nodded solemnly, taking the bread and biting into it. Wendy returned her smile with some relief.

"Fedha." The girl said, gesturing to herself when she had swallowed her mouthful. "Jian." She added pointing to her companion. Both regarded with curiosity.

"Wendy." Wendy returned, pressing a hand to her chest. Both sets of eyes widened.

"Wendy Darling?" They asked in unison. Their accents distorted her name to make it sound like an exotic charm.

"Yes. Do you remember me?" She smiled, before catching herself, and nodding her head deliberately. The exchanged delighted glances, exchanged a word, and gestured for her to follow them as they began traipsing through the jungle in the direction of their camp. Wendy followed uneasily, the prospect of running back to the _Jolly Roger_ suddenly overtly tempting. The impoliteness stopped her. The pair had restrained from killing an apparent pirate and had offered to break their bread with her in friendship. She couldn't repay the pair by slipping away. They, on their part, looked slightly shocked when she did catch up. Evidently that had expected her to run.

"If you could go a little slower." Wendy requested with a polite smile, her feet aching from her earlier jog. Fedha and Jian exchanged glances and shrugs. With a sigh, Wendy kept up their brisk pace, eyes peeled on the trees for any sign of further movement.

She smelled the camp before she saw it. The sharp tang of wood smoke and dried meat hung in the air like a homemade perfume, making her mouth water. She was suddenly harshly aware that she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. The sight of tepees and tents rose in her sight as suddenly as flowers and Wendy breathed in sharply. They were so carefully blended into the forest, the sight of the manmade canvas seemed crude and out of place surrounded by the nature it so carefully mimicked. Faces melted out of the surroundings, eyes wary as the girl in a shirt with billowing pirate shirt followed the siblings into their midst.

Fedha called something in that strange language, hitching her bow off of her shoulder and onto the ground beside the huge campfire that raged in the middle of all the tents. An answering shout from a man had Wendy's eyes following it, a conversation apparently being ignited between the two. He looked just like Fedha, with the same extraordinary eyes and tall, willowy body.

"My… brother?" She turned and said haltingly in English to Wendy.

"Good afternoon. My name is Kaha." He smiled, bowing as charmingly as an English lord.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Wendy returned his bow with a curtsey that felt rather ridiculous dressed as she was. "You speak English very well."

"Thank you. Peter Pan taught me, once, very long ago."

Wendy raised an eyebrow. The thought of Peter having the patience to teach anyone anything was one that was met with some suspicion. Kaha caught her expression and smiled slowly. "I had something he wanted."

Ashamed for prying, she flushed pink and awkwardly pushed curls back from her forehead.

"You are Wendy Darling?"

"I am. I came here once a long time ago, but I'm afraid I do not remember many of your customs."

"No child can be expected to pay too much attention." His eyes twinkled, "But you are not a child any longer. Perhaps you will learn something on _this_ trip."

The faces of the Indians watched the exchange curiously. Thankfully not a weapon was in sight, although Wendy had no doubt that every man woman and child was armed to the teeth. Kaha's eyes drifted below her face, regarding her attire curiously, making Wendy's face flush again.

"I suppose you're wondering-"

"How you came to be dressed as a pirate?"

Kaha smiled. The girl who stood before him was very different to how he, or any of them, remembered.

The sage caught his eye and gave a gesture.

Kaha returned his gaze to Wendy. The sparkling clean child she had been had grown into a young woman, with nut brown curls cut to her shoulders, dirt smudged on her nose and glitteringly stormy eyes. Instead of the pristine white night gown, and ribbons in her hair, she wore a shirt far too big for her that was stained with salt, narrow breeches hugging equally slim legs. He brought his eyes up to her face, which was turning pink with embarrassment.

"Necessity." She shrugged, plucking at the linen of her shirt.

"The sage wishes to speak to you." Kaha gestured at the woman, whose face was as wrinkled as an old apple. Wendy turned and smiled, as the woman came towards her. She held her hand and began whittering in that foreign language, poking a knarled finger at her chest with every statement. Wendy watched her face, deafening her ears, revelling in the unadulterated details of the myriads of wrinkles adorning her cheeks, eyes and lips.

"She says you have changed in your soul." Kaha translated, coming towards her. The other Indians had lost interest and were returning to their tasks- of playing, cooking, flirting, laughing.

"Changed?" Wendy asked curiously, her question aimed at Kaha but her eyes still on the sage.

"Where once you held duty above all else, selfishness has- what is the word?" Kaha paused, "_replaced_."

He caught the look of dismay in her expression.

"Selfishness is not a bad thing, in moderation. But where once you would be unhappy for others, you now are ready to be happy for yourself."

"I could have told you that myself." She said before she could stop herself, before raising a hand to her mouth. Kaha spoke with the sage briefly, before she patted Wendy's shoulder with a smile.

"She also says that through prolonged misery, you had learned to defend yourself through barbs and snaps that will eventually tear you." Kaha smirked, "She says you must be more- _ambivalent_- as you were when you were a child, or you will hurt."

Wendy didn't reply. She lowered her eyes to the ground. Barbs?


	8. Chapter Seven

That evening, Wendy had more fun than she had in years. The Indians, despite the language barrier, seemed to understand her through her expressions and body language alone. Some even spoke a little English after run-ins with pirates and Lost Boys. Kaha remained by her side and translated anything pressing, his silver eyes glittering with laughter in the firelight. Meat juicer than fruit ran down her wrists as she bit into it like a barbarian, spicy with pepper and sharp with lemon that rolled on her palette which seemed more alive now than after the past six years of bland, English food. She laughed, talked with her mouth open, licked her hands without complaint, and the Indians in return treated her as one of their own. Music burst like a bird into being, quick beats on drums and singing, causing the younger generations to stand and dance, shrieking with laughter. Wendy giggled and clapped her hands, carefree and tapping beats on the ground in front of her.

Fedha pulled her up by her hands, despite her protests and twirled her in a whirling dance by the fire. They wove in and out of one another, hair flying and teeth gleaming as they helplessly laughed together. Kaha lay, his head pillowed by one arm, his light eyes never leaving Wendy.

When her breathing was too fast and her head light Wendy dragged Fedha to sit again, begging her for a drink of water. Kaha ignored his sister, sitting instead beside Wendy with a gourd of cold water in his hand which he handed over with a wink. He glimpsed something in her eyes, something he hadn't seen many times before- pure naivety.

Fedha stood with a knowing look at the pair which Wendy didn't understand, and left to sit with a young man who had been gesturing to her. The pair kissed one another on the mouth, in full view of the tribe, before Fedha slipped into his arms and they held their heads close in conversation. Wendy's eyes snapped with shock to the elders of the tribe. Kaha noticed her shock and guffawed, shaking his head at her prudishness.

"They're to be married. If all Englishwomen are like you, it's a wonder any more are ever born."

"I was brought up in the knowledge that my husband would be chosen for me, and so I mustn't show an ounce of affection for anyone but immediate family." She said thoughtfully, eyeing the couple as they held each other in the firelight, a stone of affection amidst the fevered dancing of their tribe.

"And was one?" A voice broke into her daydreaming and Wendy turned to find Kaha's face close, eyes curious.

"Was what?"

"Was a husband chosen for you?"

Wendy thought about his question for a moment, the rows of suitors marching through her head.

"There have been..." She counted on her fingers quickly, "Seven, so far. I have a feeling the last was the one I would have been stuck with I hadn't been surreptitiously brought here."

"Seven?" Kaha's eyes were wide with amusement, "And what did you do to frighten these Englishmen away?"

"I told them stories." Wendy smiled slightly, a smile tinged with sadness. Her mother's disappointment after each man broke his engagement with her had always lain heavy on her heart. _She's just too strange. In love with another! A mind entirely too wilful for a young lady._

"That doesn't sound too awful" Kaha frowned, trying to understand.

"The English society is one very different to here. A woman is expected to be tidy and pleasant at all times, to be of good breeding and bring up healthy children thusly." Her voice took on the bitter lecturing edge, and Kaha realised this was a lesson that had been repeatedly smashed into her pretty head throughout her life. Even her tone was one of mocking mimicking. Her grey eyes darted up sadly.

"Does this mean you have never…." His tone was thoughtful, suddenly, eyes shielded in the light. Wendy waited for him to complete his question, quietly watching the dancers stamp their feet with joy. "Never kissed a man?"

"Hardly a topic worth discussing." Wendy said, straightening her shoulders and raising her chin. She couldn't prevent a flush working over her cheeks as she remembered an all too brief brush of lips against her lip on a rocking deck. Thimbles and acorns, indeed.

Kaha shrugged in return and smiled teasingly, handing her the water gourd again to decapitate the sudden awkwardness.

"I'm always available to offer my lips for the good of the cause." He chuckled, overtly laviscous, with a tone obviously joking. Wendy rolled her eyes as imperiously as she could, sticking her nose in the air. "Fine, fine. But we'll melt your cold English heart soon." Kaha laughed again, slapping her on the back in a friendly way.

"Your sage said I have changed; I haven't changed _that_ much."

"You can be my new little sister instead, then."

"What on earth is wrong with friend?"

"I go one way or the other, never in between." Kaha's eyes were teasingly bright, and quick as a bullet he ruffled her curls over her eyes in a deliberately irritating movement. Wendy slapped his hand away, with another roll of her eyes, sternly giving him her mother's _look._

One of the elders came over to them and spoke to Kaha, who turned to Wendy and asked, "You will share a tent with Fedha tonight, and tomorrow we may speak of what to do with you. Alright?"

Wendy considered for a moment, before nodding with a grateful smile at the elder.

"Please extend my gratitude." She shook the elders hand gently as Kaha translated her words.

That night, Fedha lent her a soft buckskin tunic to wear to sleep.

"You like brother? Kaha?" She asked haltingly, eyes bright as she loosened her long plait with quick fingers. Wendy paused in combing her hair and smiled.

"Why, yes, I like your whole family." She replied, with a nod to show her words. Fedha didn't understand the strange words, but she squealed in joy at the nod and clasped her hands. Wendy viewed the extreme reaction with some surprise, but smiled in return and shrugged. Fedha began whittering in her language, gesturing with her arms, but Wendy shook her head in miscomprehension sadly. The pair lay down on the soft pillows and blankets of tepees and regarded one another silently. How to communicate without words? Tentatively, Fedha reached towards Wendy and pointed.

"Wendy, mschina." She pointed at the blanket, "kufunika," at the post, "kuni."

Understanding, Wendy repeated the strange words, before repeating them in English. Fedha tried to shape her tongue around the words, wrinkling her nose humorously at the stilted way they tasted in comparison to her own fluid language. The fell asleep with the words of the other girls' language on their tongues and laughter at miscomprehension light on their hearts.

She awoke more violently than she had anticipated. A hand gripped her mouth before she could scream, and she jerked upright only to be caught in an iron circle of a man's grasp. It was dark and silent, the fire banked outside, the only sound Fedha's even breathing as she slept unaware. Before Wendy could shriek or fight she was over a shoulder and leaving the warm cocoon of blankets she had been in with wide eyes. The whole thing had taken less than four seconds. When the cold air touched her bare skin sensibility returned to her and she began thrashing against the back she lay against, trying to scream, only to realise a rag had been tied around her mouth.

The man ran quickly out of the ring of tepees, fluidly quick despite the load he carried. Wendy continued to thrash against him, beating with her fists and legs and trying to make noise enough to rouse the Indians, but even she could recognise that by now they were too far. The blush of dawn began to spread on the horizon, slicing melon pink through the trees to dazzle her still sleep befuddled eyes. She stopped struggling when she realised the uselessness, and began to sob instead, tears streaming down her face. When she felt the brush of metal against the back of her bare thigh she froze.

"Hrrck?" She tried to turn to look at the man who held her, her voice muffled beyond recognition. Sure enough black curls brushed her back, and she realised the coat she was clutching was red velvet. Her feat both abated and intensified at the same time. Abated because it was not some unknown shadowy stranger, intensified because the anger in his eyes yesterday on his ship were enough to freeze her blood.

"Hrrck, lmme grr." She shrieked against the cloth around her lips, kicking afresh, tears still on her cheeks. Hook ignored her, or didn't care enough to answer, but his grip on her waist tightened as she bounced against his back. The undignified position she held was enough to make her sobbing restart as air was knocked from her lungs.

What felt like a century later, the sound of the sea echoed in her exhausted ears. The sun was fully in the air, its rims still pink and blindingly low. She was unceremoniously dumped into a rowboat, hard enough to make her tail bone jolt, the wrong way to face the Captain. She was at the front, tucked into the corner of the bow. She tried to twist her head to glare at him, but a member of his crew was already behind her, looping her hands into rope. They made quick time, and in under a minute the wood of the _Jolly Roger _loomed ominously above her head. Wendy made her spine rigid, and held her head high, lifting her tied hands to wipe her cheeks.

Hands hauled her up and over the edge, far more gentle than Hook had. They gave her sympathetic smiles, their morning in the sun yesterday still fond in their memories.

"Put her in the crib." An upper-class drawl behind her. Hands dragged her under the deck, down a short flight of a ladder. She hadn't ever stepped foot beneath the _Jolly Roger_. Fumbling in the dark, a small cell was opened with a wooden door, and she was handed in before her hands were cut free and the door clicked shut.

Immediately she tore off her gag and began roving her cell. A little light streamed in from gaps in the planks which she used to adjust her eyes to search for a way out. The door was locked and could have been made of steel for the amount she knew about lock picking. Nothing lay in the room but a small bed and a pitcher of water. Quite the step down from her previous lodgings.

When she had exhausted every option, she resorted to screaming. She banged on the door until her fingers bled.

"Hook!" She hollered until her throat was sore.

When that did nothing she sat on the bed and sobbed.

The air was colder in the shadows and raised goose bumps along her bare limbs, still dressed in the tunic Fedha had loaned her. The tears chilled on her cheeks. Wendy glared into the blackness of shadow and bitterly cried, with a savage thought of, _so he hadn't really changed at all._

Why did she feel so disappointed?


	9. Chapter Eight

Hook was brooding. Smee was worried for him. They had traipsed the beach for miles, trying to spot a sign of nut brown curls, and when that had failed had combed every inch of the island. For every hour they hadn't found Wendy, Hook's mood had darkened. Many crew members had ended up dead from his sheer frustration, a hook in their back and questions in their hearts.

He sat with his hand running through his hair and a cigarette at his lips, elbows on his desk and eyes murderous. He had been drinking steadily all day. The little cabin was saturated with the smell of rum, and hint of the floral scent of Wendy drowned.

"Sir, shall I take her somethin' to eat? She's been down there hours already." Smee suggested quietly, unable to remain quiet. The Captain whipped his head around to glare his oldest friend.

"_Take her something to eat?_" He growled, knocking a wine bottle to the floor with the sweep of one impatient hand. "No, you may not."

He stood angrily and began to pace his cabin, eyes roving the room. Wendy's screams had stopped hours ago. He wondered what she was doing, if she finally hated him with a hatred he had expected from her since she had arrived. Those eyes were sure to be sparking with anger, it was all he could do to stop himself going down to get singed.

"Get out." Hook said quietly, not wanting to risk losing his temper on Smee. Smee followed his orders silently.

_Damned Indians. Damned Wendy._ He had expected her dead at every turn, studded with Indian arrows or Lost Boy stones, her skin stolen by mermaids or her soul stolen by God knows whatever else frequents the blasted island. But no. She was alive. She had danced and licked meat from her fingertips and laughed with that silver-eyed bastard. She had elected to join them for the night, curled up next to a savage rather than return to him. The fear, the horrific, soul consuming fear that James Hook had never before experienced slammed into him in one, directly into the organ most would call a heart, but he himself had never considered.

He got to his feet, anger coursing through his veins. _Damn_. He slammed out of the room.

Wendy had given up. She was curled on her side, tears crystallised into trails of salt on her skin. When she had wanted to stay with Hook she had been taken, showing there was no safe option in Neverland but to remain on the ship. When she had tried to leave to find there _was_ another option, she had been dragged back. She_couldn't_ go back to London. The staid life of darkness and solidity was all that awaited her there. The kiss at the corner of her mouth had quivered every day, the sounds of the surf of Neverland echoing hauntingly in her ears.

The darkness had begun to play tricks on her. Shadows turned into ghosts and ghouls yawning their wide mouths in silent screams. She cursed Hook under her breath with every fibre of her being. The darkness had frightened her ever since that fateful night when Peter had come into the nursery, extinguishing the night lights in the nursery one by one. Her mother used to tell her they were the eyes of mothers. The utter extinguishment of light left her hopeless.

She was just picturing the painful ways she would injure Hook when the door behind her slammed open. She shut her eyes tightly, unable to contain a whimper as she hugged her arms around herself tightly and more tears leaked from under her eyelids.

"Ms Darling." A voice from behind her sounded shocked out of anger as he drew himself up short. Shocked at her pitiful state, no doubt, but Wendy couldn't bring herself to fight. _Barbs._ She hoped the sage was happy; she had reverted to her fearful twelve year old self at a whim of the Captain's. "Turn around, my dear."

"Don't think to call me _dear._" Wendy whispered against the wall, half to herself, but she knew he had heard. There was a beat of silence, and a lantern sputtered into life. Relief made her moan.

"Frightened of the dark." Hook murmured behind her, entirely to himself, as he watched the shivering, bare legged girl cringe away from him. Her fingers were blue with cold.

The door shut and the key sounded in the lock, and Wendy gave a sigh of relief, relaxing from her rigid position slightly and running a hand through her hair. He had left the light inside the room. Before she could turn around, a heavy weight pressed the mattress she was lying on and the warmth of another body touched her skin. She cringed again, scrambling away on the bed to press herself against the wall.

Hook cocked his head to watch her as she frantically looked from him, to the door again, and back again. Her breathing was as light as a deer, grey eyes stormy with fear.

"The infamous Wendy, scared of Captain Jas. Hook?" He asked slowly, getting to his feet as slowly as he could to avoid scaring her further. Wendy shrank away from him, and she thought she heard his sharp intake of breath. "So abruptly?"

"I've always been afraid of you." She murmured, "From pure principle. The icon of Hook, ever since I was twelve years old. The villain of my tale. The antagonist."

Tears slid down her face as she shut her eyes.

"But I've never been afraid of the man, until you gave me cause to."

Silence met her proclamation. She kept her eyes shut as she heard footsteps on the wood coming towards her. He stopped just short of touching her.

"And what have I done to merit such a reception?" He murmured, honestly thrown. Something had changed in her. She was no longer as sharp and barbed as a draw of needles. She was sadder. Ambivalent.

"You took my freedom. You reverted me to the bases form of shadow and fear. And you made me feel like a fool for believing you were anything more than the pirate you are." She finished bitterly. Her tears had stopped but shivering replaced them, dry sobs heaving her lungs. Fingertips as light as a butterfly wing stroked her cheek, before dropping away.

"Look at me, Ms Darling."

She shook her head, eyes resolutely shut against the face she knew was hovering so close to hers. Shame and fear warred inside her as she held herself back. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do, kiss or kill him, and was afraid to let herself find out.

"Please." The unfamiliar plea sounded harsh on his tongue. The surprise made her pop her eyes open. His face filled her vision, closer than she had expected and closer than she had ever known it to be. A scar slightly puckered the skin on one of his high cheekbones, light stubble making him appear yet more rumpled. And his eyes. The sapphire blue of them were saturated with – with something-

He reached down to kiss her before she could figure it out. He pressed his lips to the right hand corner of her lips, to kiss away that temptation like he had wanted to do for years, making her jolt against him in surprise at her own reaction. Her lips were warm and sweet as they moved against his to open in a gasp. Hook pulled back to gauge her reaction, his one hand reaching down to stroke the flush that stained her pale cheeks with rose petals. She remained completely still, eyes boring into his.

Hook pressed her against the wall with the full length of his body, flicking her lips open with his tongue to taste her mouth with his own in a desperation he had never before felt. She froze at the touch of his tongue against her own, the pleasure of her first real, proper, magical kiss dowsed in the icy water of reality.

She pushed at his chest with sharp fingers, and an intake of breath that she felt from her lungs to her toes.

"_Stop._" She demanded, twisting her head to the side and trying to separate their bodies. Hook stared down at her, eyes veiled with desire and lips damp by her tongue. He slowly stepped away, barely concealed violence in his expression and stance as he held himself with careful grace.

"I'm not used to women avoiding my advances so violently, Ms Darling."

"Then perhaps you should learn." She shouldered away from the wall, and marched past him to her bed, where she resumed her previous position. She listened hard, spine rigid and eyes trained on the slats of the wall, until the door quietly clicked shut.

The lock did not turn.


	10. Chapter Nine

_Just a short, sweet chapter. It's 12 O'clock and I couldn't sleep due to an exam tomorrow, so my apologies if it's a little monotonous. Enjoy!_

The Captain had left the lantern inside, and that was enough for Wendy. She didn't move a muscle. She knew the door was unlocked, just as she knew that Hook would be waiting on the deck for her. He would take her reappearance significantly, judging the amount of time it took her to surface. And so, Wendy would naturally keep him waiting.

A shiver ran down her spine. Her mind was wheeling, unused to the sheer amount of time hiding offered to the thoughtful. Memories, vague memories, cartwheeled around her brain like a firework gone wild. The first time she had hear Hook say her name, he had been rallying his crew to kidnap her as she hid with Peter. The first time they had touched, when he had grabbed her arm in a distinguished manner to trick her into following his orders as he captured her boys. Her mother and father and their cool, dutifully loving relationship. Peter and his innocently beguiling charms of sunshine and drugs.

She turned fitfully on the narrow bed, feverishly, lips burning with the sensation of his teeth, his tongue, his skin. The impropriety of it made her hackles raise and tears of self-disappointment rise under her breast bone. She had always risen above the cheapness of desire, why must she fall at the hurdle of no one more than a pirate?

Footsteps sounded over her head, echoing into her self-inflicted cell that was steadily growing darker again as the lantern burned on. The wick lowered, Wendy's eyes following it hungrily. The moment it went out she would be out into the sunshine like a shot. To stop her rising fear again she clamped her eyes shut, allowing her self-made darkness to chase away outward shadows. Pain and desire and self-hatred burned through her veins like rum.

A _villain._ Her villain. The man who had tried to kill her, to kill her brothers, her friends. The man who had devoted his life to the pain of a child.

Then _why_ God did he make her pulse flutter like butterfly wings whenever he was near?

The glow of orange under her eyelashes blackened. She jerked upwards, shaking her hair back, heart pounding as darkness fell once again.

_I can't do this again._ Wendy threw herself at the door, scrambling for the handle. When it was open she chased through, frantically feeling through the dark for the step ladder. Unsure about how much time had passed, she poked her head through the trapdoor carefully. Looking up, all she could see was a square chink of the sky- velvety black and sprinkled with diamond stars with the hint of morning sun on the horizon. She must have been under the hull for hours.

The deck was silent. The only sign of movement was one of the crew in the crow's nest sitting his turn with eyes trained on the island. He glanced down and, on seeing the pale, bare limbed girl, gave a cheery wave. Wendy nodded her head in return, fighting a shiver from the cold. The _Jolly Roger_ was oddly peaceful. Silent. The waves lapping the wood, a far off crow. Wendy leaned her forearms against the ship wall, slowing her breathing and delighting in the delicious peace.

The knot of fear at her spine loosened. She couldn't help wondering, as she watched the glitter of stars, how it was she had come to be here. Wendy had believed Hook's term of events without question. Even if it was true, how had she come to be on his deck? Peter certainly hadn't brought her.

A distant light no bigger than a pinprick caught her attention. She smiled delightedly as it swung in lazy circles. A fairy. She hadn't seen a fairy since she had arrived- the gold glimmer of fairy dust was welcome on the cold dawn. Her mind turned to Tinker Bell. My, how her memories skipped around tonight.

With a shake of her head and a determinate straightening of her shoulders, she turned, only to see the pirate Captain lounging against the mast he had tied her to all those years ago. His arms were crossed as he watched her, face half covered by shadow, eyes glittering darkly. Wendy noted by his stance that he had been standing there for quite some time.

"A lovely morning, don't you think, my dear?" He asked lowly, his impeccable public school accent rough with tiredness.

"A little cold." Wendy returned, staying at her position by the ship wall. Hook shrugged away from the mast, his eyes trailing from her face to her bare legs, and back again.

"The savages didn't see fit to dress you in anything suitable, I see."

"Neither they, nor I, expected to be taken from my warm bed and bundled across Neverland." Wendy frowned, offended by his tone in regard to the Indian's hospitality. With a grimace, the Captain shrugged off his red velvet coat and swung it around the girl before he could protest. Gooseflush puckered her skin, and her lips quivered as her teeth chattered. Wendy hugged it close, the warmth of his skin an immediate relief. The smell of salt and rum.

"If you insist on staying away from my cabin, you might as well be warm." He muttered, leaning his hands on the ship wall without looking at her. Wendy returned to her original position, hugging the coat close around her. It reached her calves where it only hit Hook's knees, with shimmering gold buttons that glittered as brightly as the fairy in the distance.

"What had you so deep in thought, Ms. Darling?" A voice broke into her analysis of his clothing. She glanced sideways at him, before resolutely returning her gaze to the rising sun.

"I was wondering how I came to be in Neverland."

"I know as much as you do."

"What happened, that day? You never told me in detail."

Hook shifted uncomfortably beside her. Wendy knew without looking. Each was painfully aware of the other's vicinity, but neither would move towards the other. Hook, because she had made her distaste of him perfectly clear, Wendy, because she was afraid of what she might do.

"I told you—we had set up port, I, and all my men were inland. I was happily drinking my fill with a pretty girl on my knee when Smee came puffing up to the tavern with some cock-and-bull story of an unconscious woman on my ship." Hook shrugged, not noticing the tension that had suddenly frozen the girl beside him. "I returned to find you, wearing little more than a nightgown that was sodden and half frozen and stuck to your skin. I brought you into my cabin, took it off and put you in my bed. And then you woke up."

Wendy flushed, her hands forming fists on the wall. Anger was blossoming, warring with humiliation. He had been with a _girl._ He had seen Wendy _naked._ Both seemed equally absurd in her befuddled brain, and so she couldn't prevent herself from shooting a glare at him from under her eyelashes.

"Bad form, Captain." She murmured, snuggling deeper into his coat. She gasped suddenly in pure delight, a sound that had the Captain looking quickly down at her to catch her expression. The sun peaked over the waves of the sea, glorious pinks and golds and deep, burnished reds that glinted on the horizon. The light lit up her face, softening her tired features and melting the years away until she was that child of twelve again, soft cheeks flushed and golden and curls glittering with strands of the purest bronze. The happiness in her expression in the one crystallised moment made his head stop. She was so much more beautiful than the sunrise.

The temptation to kiss her again warred with his common sense. He could almost feel the softness of her smiling lips under his again, but James Hook did not become the most afeared Captain to sail the seven seas by acting on impulse. He jerked his head around to watch the sun, blue eyes squinting and fists clenched.

Moments of silence passed. The shimmering sound of light was the only think to break the air, as Neverland held its breath in a hush to await the oncoming morning. Hook couldn't help thinking back to mornings at Eton, the watery English sun rising over the misty playing fields from his iron leaded window. When a soft head rested against his arm, he glanced down to find the silly girl asleep on her feet, body resting against the ship wall and face pressed against his shirtsleeve. After the way he had behaved he was shocked she could even bear to be within touching distance of him, although, judging by her current state, she was hardly aware of her actions. The utter peace on her face shattered something in him.

With a sigh, he gently moved his arm so she was cradled against his chest. The sunlight of the new day blazed across her sleeping face, and Captain James Hook found himself wanting to watch the girl forever.


	11. Chapter Ten

_Another brief chapter! I hope you like it… (review! Review!) He hem. Who said that? ;)_

_Forever is an awfully long time._ _Never is too. What would I give for good old fashioned uncertainty. The transience of brevity._

As first waking thoughts these were not unprofound. Wendy stirred, mind already reeling with possibility, as one's mind does when thinking has been unceremoniously interrupted with sleep the night before. She awoke expecting to be windswept and beside the Captain in their bubble of quietness, the surf slapping the hull, only to find herself clad in a clean linen shirt of her host's, wrapped in blankets that seemed sinfully comfortable after her horrendous twenty-four hours in the brig.

Aware that she must look as mussed as an owl dragged backwards through a hedge, Wendy cautiously lifted her face from the soft downy pillow on which it had been resting. To a relief that surprised her, the bed was not empty. Hook slept fitfully, mussing his hair with fists even in his unconsciousness, lips twisting into grimaces of something like pain. She watched him for a moment, concerned, drawing her knees to her chest and sitting up in the nest of warmth she had created. She glanced out the window. It was dark.

Her last memory was of standing on the ship's deck in silence, dropping with exhaustion over the railing. It had been sunrise. Now, judging from the blackness of the pothole, it was night. She must have slept the day away. Hook tossed suddenly, murmuring beneath his breath, drawing her attention back to him. His eyelashes were oddly dark against the tanned skin of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors, his cheeks flushed like a fevered child. Wendy couldn't stop herself reaching forward to brush her fingertips along his cheekbone soothingly, wondering despite herself what nightmares the Captain of the _Jolly Roger_ could possibly have.

Despite the brevity of her touch, Hooks face turned towards her fingers searchingly, expression pulling in distress when he could not encounter the source of his momentary comfort as she quickly withdrew her hand. Wendy fought with herself, the fierce anger with him warring against the lifelong desire to care for people as her own. The man didn't deserve her comfort. His breathing became more agitated, his lips shaping moans of agony that tore at her skin like talons. With a sigh of defeat that she seemed to be heaving far too often lately, she reached forward again to press her fingers against the taut skin of his cheek.

Hook immediately stilled, the feverish movements of his eyes beneath his eyelids calming, and his breath slowing. Wendy combed her fingers gently through his hair, stroking the skin, the eyelids, the nose, the lips, as her mother used to do to her when she found herself unable to sleep. The fascination of touching the man in something other than courteous detachment, or unquenchable desire, had her scooting closer to brush her lips against his clenched forehead. His immediate reaction of calm to her administrations of comfort were flattering to say the least.

Almost without meaning to, she began singing under her breath, an old ballad, a love song her parents used to dance to. As she sat with the Captain unconsciously in her arms, damp face pressed to her hand, she couldn't help reflect on the one other boy who had needed her comfort for his nightmares so desperately. Peter had sobbed, wailed, ranted, buried his head into her neck and sobbed with childish abandon. Hook was irrevocably more subtle, his agony made all the more desperate by the rarity with which he displayed it, the innocent way he nuzzled into her skin charming in its quiet desperation.

That was when he began to stir, the notes of the song drifting through the haze of dreams and piercing the nightmares. She paused, drawing breath when his hand seeked hers, unthinkingly sweet.

She began to withdraw, but, on sensing his agonising dreams on the edges of her perception, she slowly and carefully folded herself against his side, the only soothing action she could think to perform. His arms wrapped around her immediately, clutching at her as though she was a teddy bear, face burrowing into her chest.

"Wendy." He moaned under his breath. She glanced down, expecting to see his sea-blue eyes boring triumphantly into hers, only to see his sleeping face. Was he dreaming of _her?_ Perhaps not.

"I'm here, it's alright." She whispered, lips close against his hair. His groaned again, clutching her tight enough to cut off her breathing. She rested back against the pillows, the Captain clutched in her arms and evaluated herself with some disdain. This man was evil, had locked her under his deck for a day and night, had stolen her, weakened her, mis-treated her, and yet here she lay trying to comfort him against her skin as he slept through unquiet dreams. Was she weak, or simply stupid? The novels and lessons she had been subjected to back in London were inadequate when faced with the problems she now faced- she doubted she could paint a charming picture of a fruit bowl in order to puzzle through her issues, nor play a pretty piece on the harpsichord to make all right.

And yet… She looked down at him, and couldn't stop a welling of tenderness in her heart. The bastard had a weakness she doubted any had seen but herself. It must be so—or his crew and those who heard the name of 'James Hook,' would not fear him so, and quake with horror, as she had once done.

Wendy didn't know how long she sat holding the Captain, eyes on the rapidly lightening cabin and mind ticking through a myriad of possibilities, but eventually the Captain began to stir. He looked up at her, confused, and instead of seeing the triumph she had expected she noted a realisation that had him leaping from her arms.

"What—on _earth._" He glanced around the cabin, so shocked by her willing proximity after the events of last night that he expected a trap. A pistol was already in his hand, apparently conjured from nowhere according to Wendy's eyes. Wendy couldn't stop a smirk curling her lips, and bit down on her lower lip to prevent a giggle.

"You were having a nightmare and my touching you seemed to calm you." Wendy drew her bare knees to her chest, silently regarding the Captain who stood beside their bed with wild eyes and a gun. The absurdity of the situation struck him, and began to chuckle

"My apologies, Ms Darling."

Wendy shrugged, arms aching from the position she had held for so long, the warmth of his head steadily cooling on her breast. Her embrace felt empty.

"That's quite alright." Her voice was cool, he noted, with no short measure of disappointment. The image of her bucking away from his kiss forced a scowl to cross his features and both, without another word, turned their backs on one another to silently dress. Wendy fiercely and roundly criticising herself—what other reaction had she expected other than for him to rip away from her embrace—she should _not_ be in the slightest disappointed. He, in turn, stiffly buttoned up his shirt, angrily refusing to look in Wendy's direction lest he disgust her by touching her again.

"I have business on the deck. You are not to leave the damn ship—I don't have the time to waste to come and find you again." He started for the door, slinging his pistol holster around his hips as he went.

"Well then, why did you?" Her low voice behind him had him turning before he could stop himself. The sight of her dishevelled and cool beside the warm, rumpled sheets of the bed they had shared made him curse internally. Hook didn't allow himself to reply, but twisted and left her alone. She watched him go, a million questions at her fingertips, lips quivering. With a curse of her own, she dressed herself and kicked out at a pillow that had fallen to the floor, irritation coursing through her veins.

Hook stepped into the bright sunshine of the morning, ignoring the men who scattered in terror in his wake, working doubly hard with just his presence the incentive. He slammed his sword into the mast, from nothing but pure frustration.


	12. Chapter Eleven

They ignored one another for days. At first, the crew found it amusing, but as Wendy began speaking to no one and doing nothing but read the books she found in the cabin, they grew concerned. This concern turned to fear as their Captain's mood steadily darkened, worse than they had ever seen it.

Wendy, for her part, found losing herself in stories to be a comfort like no other. It took her mind away. It meant that she was not free to have her mind turn and linger on hard kisses in the dark, on hot eyes and a cold mouth, on the rising sun lingering in tousled curls and red velvet. She jerked herself out of her sudden shiver, folding her legs up into the armchair and burrowing her nose into the book of sea-faring patterns she had found. It was huge and dusty and mind-numbingly dull. Perfect.

Admitting defeat when it began talking about the wind pattern ideal for a south-easterly sail, she tossed it back into the desk where she had discovered it and gave a half-scream of boredom. It would be so much easier to bear if she had that bastard to cross swords with, but he stayed away from her during the day, slid into bed after she was already asleep, and left before she woke.

She didn't know what she had done exactly.

She bitterly crossed her ankles, resting her feet on his desk, and stared at the map of Neverland that hung above his desk. A current of irritation had run through her veins for days. It sharpened to pure, heart stopping anger at her worst moments. The next time she saw him, she swore to herself, the next time, she would do something. It wasn't even like she could leave the blasted cabin as Hook _never_ forgot to lock the door. She leaned forward and grasped a quill, flipping open a book of plain paper on her knee and dipping the feather into the ink pot.

_He is the vilest, most horrendous excuse for a human being. I haven't left the cabin in days. I can't go to Peter, nor can I go to London, nor can I hope to expect hospitality from the Indians after the way I left them without a word—for the pirates no less. He's slowly destroying me and I don't know how to stop it before I lose myself entirely—before I-_

Wendy broke off from her writing and chewed on the stylus, thinking hard. With a sigh she lowered her pen to paper again.

_Before I give up._

She lowered her face and sobbed.

"Miss?" A soft Irish accent broke into her awareness and she became aware of a hand hovering over her heaving shoulders. Wendy glanced up through eyes swimming in tears to find Smee, a bowl in one hand, the other not quite touching her. She sat up straight, wiping a hand across her eyes apologetically.

"Smee, thank you." She took the plate and put it on the desk with what she hoped was an expression of gratitude. Smee regarded the child, thinking furiously. She looked lost.

"Is there anythin' I can do to help?" He asked softly, crouching beside her chair and looking up at her with concerned eyes. Wendy shook her head, a movement that became a nod seamlessly and without her meaning. Without another word, she lowered her face to Smee's shoulder, and cried. Smee carefully wrapped his arms around her, making shushing noises and rocking her like a baby. She sobbed her heart out, noises of pain that shocked Smee to his core. What had his Captain been doing to her, to get her in this state?

"Miss, please, tell me what's wrong." He said quietly. Wendy sniffed against the rough-hewn cloth of his waistcoat, trying to get herself under control again. The father-like embrace of the old man was exactly what she had needed. Without thinking she began to speak.

"He won't let me go, and when I'm here I have no one. And I'm _disappointed_ and I find myself wondering what _I_ did wrong. This isn't right, it's unhealthy." She sobbed again, a whimper of humiliation escaping her lips.

"He's angry. Now I don' know why, no one can presume to know the Cap'n, not really. Bu' I know he'll get over it, miss." Smee stroked her hair gently, "Now why don' you eat what I got you, and I'll see what I can do."

He released her, easing her back into the armchair. He wrapped the Captain's robe around her shoulders, trying to ignore the pale face and bloodshot eyes, and gently put the bowl of soup on her lap. When it became apparent that her hand was shaking too much to feed herself, he eased himself onto the arm of the chair and took the bowl into his own hands.

"If you don't mind-" He asked politely, dipping the spoon in and holding it up to her lips. She opened her mouth like a baby bird, allowing him to feed her, her lips still quivering. They sat in comfortable silence, she absurdly comforted by being looked after, and he silently cursing his Captain with every bone in his body.

"I fear I am going quite mad." She observed quietly when the warmth had begun to seep into her system.

"We all feel tha' way at some point." Smee returned as cheerily as he could, spooning another mouthful into her waiting lips.

After Smee left, Wendy remained curled up in the armchair covered with Hook's robe, cheek resting in one palm and eyes on nothing-in-particular. The soup had made her feel warm and rested, but her mind was still in turmoil. Did she _want_ to leave? She didn't know. She knew she was supposed to, as prisoners are.

She remained awake long after the sun dipped below the horizon, long after the roaring fire banked to a slow glow and the noise of the deck slowed to a low not-quite-silence. Wendy traced her fingers in complicated patterns across the arm rests, sung to herself, and bit her lips to keep her determinately awake, as a child does when they're waiting for their mother to return from a long trip away, though their heads nod.

Finally her endeavours paid off, and heard the slow, quiet click of the key in the lock. She feigned sleep quickly, suddenly abruptly frightened, dipping her head into her palm and slowing her breathing, snuggling deeper into his rope. Footsteps. Pause. Hook must have noticed the empty bed. Footsteps. A shadow fell over her face. The barest touch of fingertips on her cheek- or had she imagined it? Next thing she knew she was being scooped out of the armchair into a hard pair of arms. She couldn't stop her eyes jolting open, though Hook was being deliberately careful so as to not wake her.

Wendy looked up at his face, a reprimand on her lips, when something resembling a flush inched across his cheeks and the intimacy of the situation struck her. Being carried to bed by firelight- by a pirate no less. He seemed embarrassed to be caught in the act of something verging on tender.

"You would hurt your neck sleeping like that." He shrugged, gently dropping her on the covers and turning away, fully prepared to leave the bloody room. Excuses, excuses.

"I wasn't actually asleep."

"I know." He shot her a derisive look as though questioning her intelligence.

"For the first words we have exchanged in four days, they leave a lot to be desired." Wendy sat up on the bed, eyes shadowed by the fire and lips pursed in a glowing gold pout.

"What would you prefer?" Hook made his tone deliberately provocative, aware that it would offend the young lady. She shrugged and drew her arms around her knees, looking up at Hook in a way that made him feel like a young boy in trouble.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"It would seem, Ms. Darling, that we are talking." Hook strode to his desk, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He shed it, sitting in his armchair to remove his boots and belt, casting an uninterested glance over his notebook. Wendy's writing. She must have been writing a story.

"I want to leave. And you will release me." Her quiet command had him whipping his head around. Wendy expected a reprimand for ordering the Captain around his own ship, as usual, but instead she got a glare as heart stopping in its anger as a storm. Hook regarded the girl on his bed, quietly brave, clad in nothing but his shirt, and he paused with a breath to stop himself saying something he'd regret.

"Why?" His voice was silky, almost menacing, and Wendy felt a thrill of fear.

"I didn't want to leave until you treated me as your prisoner. That, I could even stand if I had company from someone more often than every few days. I am going _insane_, Captain." She dropped her face to her knees and gave a heaving sigh. "Please. Just let me go back to the Indians. I'll swim, you don't even have to row me to shore."

It was the please. Hook struggled with himself, but after days of avoiding her, being in her presence was like being around tender cakes after weeks eating nothing but stale bread. He strode to the bed, and swooped down to claim Wendy's mouth for his own. She gasped with surprise, shocked to find the enthusiastic response her body had. Her fingers tangled into his hair, drawing him closer as Hooks hands slid to her waist. Using the pressure of his mouth he couldn't stop himself pushing her backwards so she was stretched out with her head on the pillow. She groaned and battled with herself even as she responded, wrapping her legs around his waist and burrowing into his kiss.

"You're not leaving me" He said fiercely against her skin.

"But-"

"No." Ignoring the clear headedness that was beginning to redevelop in Wendy's pretty head he skimmed his tongue over hers and pressed her harder into his mattress.

"You can't just-" She sighed as his lips moved down to her neck, "kiss me and expect me to forget-" A yelp as he nipped her ear, "The way you've treated me."

With a curse Hook moved away from her, before she could throw him off again. He didn't think his pride could take it. Wendy looked up at him, slightly dazed, and tugged the shirt lower down her legs.

"What about the way _you've_ treated _me?_" He murmured, crossing his legs and leaning back against the bed post opposite her. Wendy avoided looking at him, suddenly aware that he was shirtless and bootless.

"I have done _nothing._"

"You left."

"You _told_ me to!"

"I didn't expect-" He broke off and ran a hand through his hair with a huff of frustration, "Look just go to sleep, it's late."

"I want to _leave._" She insisted, "Or at least have my prison sentence revoked. A gilded prison is still a prison. It's not much to ask."

"Sleep, damn it, Wendy!" Hook stood and paced, ignoring the girl and trying to clear his head. The imprint of her still burned against his skin and he was afraid he would do something he'd regret if she carried on talking of leaving. She fell quiet. Hook turned to find her watching him steadily, a curious look in her eye and Hook passionately and suddenly resented without quite knowing why.

"What do you dream?"

That was why.

A shadow fell across his face, eyes turning as red as ice and his jaw tightened.

"Go to sleep." The words were low and silky, a threat clear behind the words if she were to push him.

"I will sleep if you swear on your hook that tomorrow that door will not be locked." Wendy said slowly, surprised by her own daring. Hook raised one eyebrow.

"Fine."

Those were the last words they spoke that night.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Hook waited for Wendy to fall asleep before joining her in the bed, not trusting himself to keep his hands away from her. Her being unconscious at least appealed to his sense of propriety and allowed him something tangible to prevent him from acting unscrupulously. Her breathing was light, eyes shadowed with heavy bags that hadn't been there four days ago, lips curled into a thin line of distress. He watched her a moment, before flopping under the covers with a gust of frustration.

_What do you dream?_

Why did she have to ask him? Why did she have to bring it up? The very idea of his showing weakness of nightmare in front of her made his heart quicken with irritation. She moved on the bed beside him, shifting onto her side so that she faced him, although she was still deep in sleep. One hand cushioned her curly head and her eyelashes swept the flush of her cheek. She wasn't making this easy for him.

Unable to stop himself, Hook gently drew Wendy towards himself. Without word the girl curled up against him, her head coming down to his shoulder and her hand sweeping his chest. Hook buried his face into her hair, and, with one last sigh, slipped into dreamless sleep.

When she awoke, Wendy felt the feeling of another person in her bed, a sensation she had missed in the last few days when Hook would get up early to avoid her. Not only that but she was half lying upon him, her legs intertwined with his. His eyes flickered open, and he glanced down at her, expression smooth.

"Good morning, my dear." He said gently, brushing a stray curl from her eyes. Wendy found herself confused.

"After you rant and rail at me, you say good morning as though nothing happened?"

"And you, after telling me you want to leave, find yourself lying on top of me." The Captain smiled smoothly, "Both of us seem to have forgotten our conversation, as we English do."

Wendy began to extract herself, but found his grip on her too hard. "Was I complaining?" He chuckled.

"Captain, if you don't release me I will be forced to hurt you."

"You can try, ms. Darling." He reached up and claimed her mouth with his, grip warm on her waist. Wendy thought about shrieking, but found her mouth was already far too busy. When his tongue touched hers she snapped back to reality and pulled back away from him, eyes narrowed.

"So, am I free?"

"Free to leave the cabin, not to leave my ship." He rolled his eyes, lips feeling cool on the removal of hers. Wendy knew she should stand up for herself, but the feeling of being wanted so desperately that she would be held prisoner was too delightful and she had to stop a dippy smile from lighting her mouth.

"Well what am I to do aboard your ship all day, every day, Captain?"

"I'm going to teach you how to use a sword."

"And if I don't want you to teach me to use a sword?"

"Then there are several other forms of physical exercise, one of which might suit your tastes."

His eyes brightened and drifted to her mouth. This new, playful Hook surprised her, and Wendy wasn't entirely sure how to act around him. She chose to back away, and hugged her knees to herself. His eyes immediately shadowed and his veneer iced over. The power she had suddenly struck her.

_Could he…_

No. Wendy broke off the thought before it could even form. He was a pirate. James Hook. He couldn't really, truly, _care._

The Captain got smoothly to his feet and turned his back on Wendy, his spine taut and his movements careful. Wendy watched him, curiously, wandering what on earth was in his mind. Hook, as though sensing this invasive gaze, turned to glance coolly at her.

"Be dressed in ten minutes, and on my deck." He said quietly, almost menacingly, his hook curled against his chest as he glared down at her. Wendy raised one eyebrow, taken aback despite herself by the tone of his voice. Before she could question him, however, he was out of sight. She dressed quickly, and, with a heart pounding, moved out into the sunshine.

That was the first of many lessons. Hook didn't allow his irritation towards her constant rejections to show in his administrations of steel and blood, and was curiously gentle with the girl as he corrected her posture and fingers. She learned quickly under him, and soon was able to twirl a sword and slash the head off a stalk of corn from a pirates mouth. Days passed, quiet days, days filled with fear and uncertainty on Wendy's part, and irritation and frustration on Hook's. They were careful around one another, Hook making sure to speak to her enough to avoid her loneliness, but not enough to quench his constantly growing curiosity towards her. When she danced across his deck with a sword flashing in her fist and laughing eyes, when she sang an odd tune in the bath, when she broke into her food with single minded determination, when she smiled and her nose crinkled just so… And Wendy was no better. She found herself watching Hook with curiosity at odd moments, wandering what is was that she wanted.

The change came, as changes do, at the transient period of the day. It was sunset. Wendy had fashioned herself pan pipes of sort, similar to those Peter had played to her throughout her childhood. They were smooth and cool and well made against her fingers, held by a blue ribbon from the night gown Hook had stripped from her on her first arrival to Neverland. The clear notes they created were pleasing to her, drifting as they did on the salt tainted air.

The crew was silent whenever Wendy created. When she told stories, when she danced with her sword, when she sang or when she played her pipes. The creation of something other than pain was rare on the deck of the _Jolly Roger_, and the feminine touch of Wendy was irrevocably tempting to the men who listened or watched with delight. On this particular day she faced out to see, her hipbones pressing into the ship wall and her pipes to her lips. The clever melody was haunting on the wind, a tune of loneliness and melodious pain, the likes of which were unheard of in Neverland. Peter was the only source of music, and his was constant jigs and petty happiness of childhood. And the sound made creatures curious.

A glitter. Wendy paused in her playing and the light moved away. She played again and it got closer. With a half-smile she blew into the pipes with a sudden single minded determination. The sadness of it was tangible, and the light of the fairy came closer to the ship to find its source. It is rare for a fairy to travel so far from the mainland. Their home of Kensington Gardens is where almost all are found, but as we know by Tinkerbell a few did travel outside usual parameters.

Wendy carefully shifted her position so the crew wouldn't see the fairy if it landed, fearing what they might do to such a delicately beautiful creature.

It was beautiful. _She_ was beautiful. Where Tinkerbell had been curvaceous and brassily blonde, this one was as slim as a wand of willow, hair a blue-black cluster of curls to her hips, eyes a wide violet that were incredibly curious as they regarded Wendy. Carefully, without wanting to startle her, Wendy lowered her pan pipes with a small smile.

"Hello."

The fairy, although jerking in surprise, didn't move away. She slowly nodded in return, her eyes immovable from Wendy. Wendy glanced over her shoulder to make sure none had seen the fairy, before looking back at her.

"What's your name? Mine is Wendy Moira Angela Darling."

_Fila._

It was Wendy's turn to jerk in surprise. It wasn't English, rather a clashing of bells that made an impression indicating towards… Wendy couldn't rationalise it. All she knew was that she could somehow understand, understand a fair where before she couldn't.

"I- Fila? What a lovely name."

_Thank you Wendy Moira Angela Darling._

The Fairy's lips didn't move, but a cheery smile did light them with a glimmer of happiness that made her grow irresistibly brighter.

"How do I understand you?"

_I want you to understand me._

"I knew another fairy—I never understood her."

_Tinkerbell._

"Well, yes. Does she make a habit of not being understood?"

Fila smiled with some sympathy, sinking down to sit cross legged. Her wings fluttered shut at her shoulders, leaving a dusting of fairy dust on the ship wall that glittered in the late sunlight.

_Tinkerbell didn't like you._

Wendy sighed and propped her chin on her fist, resting her elbow beside the fairy.

"I know, she was in love with Peter."

Fila nodded, the promise of gossip overcoming the fairy's initial fear as she mindlessly traced patterns on the wood with her tiny fingers.

_She was the reason I brought you here, though, and so she must have forgiven you for being Pan's lover._

Wendy stared blankly down at the tiny woman, surprise clouding her mind.

"Peter wasn't my lover," She began, before pausing and frowning again, "_You _brought me here?"

_Yes._

"Why?"

_Bell asked me to._

The sun dipped completely below the horizon, and Wendy became achingly aware that the light the fairy was emitting would draw attention to the crew in the darkness. However the lure of understanding held her rooted to where she was, and so she shoot her hair loose to shield some of the light of the fairy, widening her stance.

"Why would she do that?"

_She was dying. She didn't want Pan to be alone again._

"But… then why did you bring me to the _Jolly Roger_ rather than taking me straight to Peter?" The selflessness of Tinkerbell surprised her. The woman had always seemed so… well, selfish. The idea of her bringing another woman to keep Peter Pan company shocked her, especially in regard to the hatred Tink had shown her original presence in Neverland.

_Fairies are usually wise. Bell was blinded by love._

"I don't understand."

_She didn't understand you._

Wendy sighed in frustration, making a fist with one hand. Fila regarded her silently, before shrugging and standing.

_Take me into the cabin and I'll explain._

Without a word Wendy held out on hand. Fila jumped into it, hiding herself behind Wendy's curls to diminish her light, and the pair made their way towards the empty cabin.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

The crew didn't notice as Wendy slipped passed, the fairy clutched against her chest. She snapped her attention around the deck to find Hook, stood at the wheel, eyes sharp on the mast rather than on her. She breathed a sigh of relief and ducked into the cabin. As usual it was warm with firelight flickering on the leather of books, the velvet of chairs and the silky cotton of the bed.

"Are you… hungry?" Wendy asked Fila carefully, lowering her down onto the desk and seating herself at the chair. She carefully avoided looking at the lantern Hook had used to imprison Tinkerbell, keeping her eyes on the fairy's- grey on violet. Fila didn't reply, but shook her head in amusement, making her black curls swing around her hips. Wendy shrugged, but fetched herself a tankard of water to keep her own thirst at bay.

Fila seated herself, tapping a finger to her lips, and began her story. Wendy fell silent, preparing herself to listen.

_I have always lived here in Neverland. I am one of the few actually born here. I was born, grew, lived, loved, all here in the island of imagination. It was not lonely. Other fairies came and lived here, and then there are the Indians who respect us as spirits, and the Lost Boys who play games with us. And then there is Peter, who plays music for us. _

_That's why I came to you on the ship, your music was lovely. There is no music in Neverland as sweet as that of the humans. _

_Tinkerbell was largely outcasted from us. We are allowed to enjoy humans, to play tricks, to steal a few notes of their song, but Bell chose Peter over her own people. I don't think he ever understood that. She chose him as a way of life. I think I was one of the few who continued to keep in contact with her- she was one of my best friends and I was one of her _only_ friends. _

_When she was dying she came to me and begged me to leave, to London, and find you. She called you 'that girl,' but I knew who she was referring to. Even among the fairies here you are well-known, Wendy Moira Angela Darling. Your story has spread to all in Neverland, most particularly how you escaped the charms of the half boy- half fairy Pan. _

Fila paused, a yawn stretching her delightful features. Wendy pushed her tankard towards here, surprised by the long tale, but thankful that the fairy was being thorough. Fila took a deep breath and continued.

_Anyway. I was scared of leaving Neverland by Bell begged me to. She told me how Pan had lived before without anyone to watch over him, how he had fallen into scrapes, how he had forgotten more than usual and 'lost' even more of his Lost Boys. Naturally, after her death, I felt honour bound to carry out her wishes. _

_I came to London, I flew as hard and fast as I could to the house, the nursery, the window that is so famous. I was not sure if humans lived in their old homes but you did, asleep in a bed opposite the window like a child in your night gown. I was expecting a child. I think Bell expected a child. But you were no child, and that was plain to see. And that's when I realised._

_As I said, fairies are wise. This is not vanity, merely a statement of fact. And your hopes and dreams and desires are as a bright and spilling as any child's. They bubbled until they were visible, and all I had to do was stand at the foot of your bed and watch, wait, and understand. Your dreams were music and taste and song, something I had never seen before. You are an extraordinary mixture of child and woman, and I felt it was up to me to untangle you. _

"I don't understand," Wendy interrupted suddenly, "I grew up. I left childhood accidently, but I did."

_You tried to, but your childhood ties are embedded in your love of this place. This was plain to see, and I could see that if I were to leave you in London your soul would sicken and die, just as mine would. You would go unloved and unremembered, waiting, always waiting, and living through your daughters and your daughter's daughters, on the fringes of the place you love and yet… And yet I couldn't take you to Pan. _

_Pan was your childhood, which, as you rightly pointed out, you left behind. The Neverland of your childhood isn't enough for you, Wendy Moira Angela Darling. And so I compromised, and brought you to Neverland, but I brought you to the only man I thought would satisfy your bubbling, hissing fireworks of want and need, childhood and adulthood. _

"Hook." Wendy whispered, chewing on her lip.

_Captain James Hook. He has gone by many names but those are which he commands now. He is, like you, lost. You need one another. But as the seer told you, you are filled with barbs from your life in London, your poisoned existence in a world in which you never belonged. _

"There's that word again, barbs. I am not full of barbs, I have learned to be realistic."

_Realism is over rated. _

Fila shrugged with finality.

"What do you mean, he's lost?" Wendy whispered, shoulders stiff, eyes boring into the fairy. Fila suddenly jerked, abruptly afraid, and backed away from the room, footsteps muffled by the panicked tinkle of bells.

_Ask him yourself._

Wendy whipped around, hands already shielding the fairy from view. Hook lounged against the wall behind her, face concealed by shadow, one gun casually pointed at the light on his desk.

"Now, I cannot claim to understand fairies, but I will not have word spoken of me without my consent." He said quietly, his tone almost threatening. Fila fluttered forward to hide herself in Wendy's hair, hands pinching in her fear.

_Lost. But he can be found._ She whispered close to her ear, before the touch of the fairy had disappeared and Fila had darted out of the cabin. Hook lazily followed her journey with his pistol, eyes not leaving Wendy's.

"Would you care to explain what that thing was doing in my cabin?" He stalked towards her, pistol still drawn. Wendy stood swiftly and twisted so she was facing him, chin high. The Captain tangled his hook in her curls, and with the other hand lifted the pistol to her throat. "Well?"

"She was telling me why she thought it was a good idea to drop me on your cabin after having brought me from London." Wendy shivered at the cool metal, glaring at his blue eyes, "I still find myself confused as to why _anyone_ would think that a good idea."

"What did she tell you?" Hook lowered his pistol, eyes curious. Wendy shoved his hand away from her, and bit back tears. He had been nothing but cool to her for days.

"That I would sicken and die in London, that I would be forever unquenchable with Peter, and so my only alternative was your ship. It looks like I'm stuck with you afterall." She finished bitterly, turning her face down to prevent him from seeing the tears that shimmered in her eyes. Hook lifted her face to his once more, scrutinising her expression. Wendy felt, despite her disgust with herself, a stirring of something warm in her chest at the sudden concern in his gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Hook murmured, lifting his hand to trail down the curve of her cheek. Wendy shuddered, with something that was certainly far from disgust. Hook noted her reaction, and something flashed in his eyes. "If I were to kiss you now, would you push me away again?"

Wendy stared up at him, passionately confused, tears still in her eyelashes.

"I don't understand you." She whispered, shrugging away from his palm.

"Nor I, you." Hook's voice was quiet, tight with pain, desire, misery, happiness. She didn't know which.

"You have treated me with nothing but disdain, punctuated by occasions of warmth where you attempt to kiss me. I don't know if you hate me or-." Wendy turned away from him, unable to believe that she had spoken her thoughts aloud.

"I have distanced myself from you due to the evident disgust you feel towards me. When I am around you I find it difficult to prevent myself from wanting to touch you and I do not wish to cause you any more discomfort than you already suffer." His voice was smooth behind her, heavy with unsaid words, a caress on her senses. She turned to find his eyes firmly on her.

"Disgust?" Her eyes widened, "You think I am disgusted by you?"

To hear her say the words herself was too much for the Captain, who took his turn to step away to conceal the raw pain on his face.

"You asked what I dream. I dream of the past. I dream of the future. I dream of my days at Eton with nostalgia that is as piercing as a blade. I dream of a face, cloudy grey eyes wide with fear as they dart for a boy who does not appreciate her, a face I am determined to force to fear me so that no softness will tempt me as I slice my hook against her skin."

"Hook, I don't-"

"I dream of a future of loneliness and fear where my past days mock the very foundations of who I am, centred around one infuriating child, a girl, whose mouth I can't forget with a kiss hidden at its corner."

"Captain-"

"I dream of the pain of having my hand cut off for no reason. I dream of the darkness of the crocodile's belly, the sting of its acids and the taste of its blood. And yet more agonising is you, leaving me, again and again when I've come to rely on you." Hook stalked towards the door, suddenly passionately embarrassed with himself, pain tearing at his chest.

"James!"

The call was frustrated, a shriek of irritation and revelation. He turned, fist stiff, eyes shielded. Wendy stood, lips quivering, hands twisting together. She saw the wildness of his gaze, the fear of abandonment and rejection and Fila's words drifted into her mind. _He can be found._ Slowly, as though to avoid startling a frightened rabbit, she stepped forward. His eyes followed her in the firelight, though he flattened himself against the door, unable to prepare himself for what he was sure would be a demand to leave.

Carefully, she lifted one hand to smooth the tension in his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut.

"I don't understand how you can believe me to be disgusted by you." She murmured, half to herself, smoothing her hands over his chest and resting her face against his shirt front. His arms remained rigidly by his sides, eyes staring into nothing, waiting. Deliberately, she lifted one of his arms, the one with his hook. He tensed, but Wendy did nothing but bring her warm lips to press against the cold steel, eyes on his. "This is as much a part of you as everything else."

"You don't have to pretend." His voice was hoarse, eyes tight with an indescribable emotion.

"Nor do you." Wendy dropped his claw and turned away from him, smoothly pacing to the chair she had just vacated.

"Pretend?"

"It's obvious how much I-" She broke off, cheeks stained pink with embarrassment, fingers twisting in her lap. Hook watched her, something stirring in him, and raised an eyebrow.

"Obvious how much you…?" He prompted, tone under control, smooth, chocolate sweet, seductive.

"How much I want you."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

"How much I want you."

Immediately, before the words were even out of her mouth, she blushed viciously and turned her face away from him. The red velvet of the chair suddenly became ridiculously interesting as she traced patterns in it with one finger.

"You want me?" The voice was carefully teasing, amused. "I wasn't aware London society had evolved to a degree that allowed its young ladies to be so promiscuous."

Wendy shot him a look from under her eyelashes, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed by his tone.

"They don't."

"I don't understand your angle." Hook sighed, his earlier discomfort melting away in the face of a new puzzle, a new challenge.

"Angle?" Wendy drew her knees to her chest, watching the man as he paced back and forth. Confusion was welling in her mind. Had he not declared, if not love, then something close to it? And had she not just replied that her feelings were similar? In the novels this is where the pirate captain would have swept her into his arms. Disappointment, foolish and irrepressible, welled up inside her.

"You must have an ulterior motive. I just can't- unless this is an attempt to escape somehow." His blue eyes were vague as they regarded the map of Neverland above her head.

"I could say the same thing to you." Wendy muttered, resting her forehead on her knees, abruptly tired of trying to puzzle out the impossible man. A hand touched her hair, before being quickly withdrawn.

"You think I'm trying to escape?" His voice was amused again.

"I think you told me about your dreams, about me, trying to capture my trust. I don't know why." Wendy lied, trying to prevent a blush from raising in her cheeks. In London she had drawn her fair attention of men, men who would lie through their teeth in order to use her for something darkly seductive that Wendy knew little of.

"You are utterly ridiculous."

"And you think I am lying in order to escape your ship."

"Stubborn mule."

"Insufferable villain."

The pair glared at one another, Wendy getting to her feet so they could be on more equal ground. Hook's blue eyes on Wendy's grey. Slowly, Hook lowered his hand to wrap one of her curls around his finger, watching the browns and coppers in the firelight.

Wendy shut her eyes, so overtly confused about the situation that her mind spun. He had explained his fear of her leaving him as though he loved her. He had broken down into the closest thing to weakness she had ever seen on him, and when she had attempted to explain herself he thought she was tricking him. Was he tricking her? Lying in order to get the foolish, inexperienced Wendy into his bed?

Hook watched the girl as her lips thinned into an expression of concentration. Trying to lull him into a false sense of security so that she could slip off his ship and back to the Indians—no. He was passionately angry with himself for losing himself in the moment and fought to regain control of the situation.

"This is ridiculous." Wendy whispered, fluttering her eyes open and glaring up into Hooks eyes, closer than she had expected. "Can't we… be honest with one another?"

"Of course." Hook gave a wolfish grin that made the pit of Wendy's stomach drop to her knees, "You be honest first."

"If you're too much of a coward."

Hook lowered his eyebrows into a fierce scowl, and wrapped is hooked arm around her waist, drawing her towards him. His good hand pushed her hair out of her eyes, allowing her to glare at her unobscured.

"Don't call me a coward, girl." He growled, tugging her head back by the hair so her face was turned up like a flower.

"I will when you stop acting like one." She spat in return, hands on his chest. Hook lowered his face so their lips were millimetres apart.

"Honestly? You're infuriating and stubborn and I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you, but I find myself unable to live without you. Your turn." The barely concealed violence in his face betrayed that apparent softness in his voice, body tense and good hand tugging her hair. Wendy's mind blanked, as his words sank in.

"I- I want you to kiss me." Her voice was half dazed, rough with emotion, hands clutching at his shirt front and eyes desperately boring into his. Hook raised one eyebrow.

"After all this, and that's the only truth you can muster?" He gave another wolfish smile and, without any more words, lowered his face to desperately press his lips against her waiting ones. His hand was still pulling her hair, his hooked arm pulling her against himself so any remaining air between their bodies was pushed away and both found breathing impossible. But both found breathing of little consequence as their blood boiled and their mouths furiously worked with one another in a clashing, violent harmony of want and need. Wendy pushed her hands into the tousled chin-length curls and held him closer, not even noticing when Hook lifted her onto the desk to bring her face closer to his, one leg on either side of his hips.

"I thought of another truth." She gasped when they drew apart to pant in oxygen before they passed out.

"Wendy." He groaned against her lips, the feel and sound of her name on his tongue igniting a pleasure in her that she had never before known. "Do shut up."

Hook pressed butterfly soft kisses along her jaw and neck, hand roving her waist and back as he waited for her reply, expecting something cutting. She shut her eyes in thought, her fingers combing through his short curls and tugging on them in pleasure as his lips traced her collar bones.

"Are you sure?"

"Unless it's to tell me you love me, it's a waste of lip movement."

His voice was one used to being followed; a command a captain was giving to a woman on his ship.

Wendy tugged on his hair so his face was level with hers once more, eyes bright, lips swollen.

"Why, do you love-"

"Of course."

"I think I've always loved you, Captain, from the detestably forbidden man to the horrifyingly attainable one you have become."

Hook lifted his face to hover above hers, pure shattering joy in his blue eyes as the honesty in her voice grasped him by the chest and squeezed.

"Please, darling-" He pressed his lips to hers again, mischievously nipping her lower lip to elect the gasp of pleasure he had so quickly come to crave, "call me James."

"James." She chuckled, tangling her fingers in his shirt.

With the magic of Neverland coursing through her veins, and the burning brand of the kiss at the right hand corner of her mouth, Wendy Moira Angela Darling became suddenly and excruciatingly aware that really, to grow up, was the brightest and best thing she could ever have chosen to do.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

The wedding wasn't quiet.

Hook found himself shocked, when he stood in his shirtsleeves on the beach, not only that he _was_ in fact marrying, but also at the scale of the affair. Wendy found herself equally shocked, that she had managed to snare the illustrious pirate Captain into matrimony.

The thought of bolting did cross his mind, but the sight of his fianc é changed that. Wendy wore the blue of the night gown she had worn so long ago. A sleeveless corset that pressed her breasts into inviting half-circles, tight to the hips, before flaring into a skirt of the purest silk which clung to her legs as she moved, the colour of the cloudless sky. Entirely indecent of course.

Her nut brown hair had grown in a spiral of curls past her shoulders, and was left free and wild in the warm Neverland breeze, which whipped natural roses into her cheeks and made her eyes glitter with excitement. Wendy regarded her future husband with similar enjoyment. He had left his red velvet coat aboard his ship, but glowed in pristine shirtsleeves that flattened to the hard planes of his chest in the wind, eyes sparkling blue that glowed from his tanned face like jewels in a dull setting.

And surrounding the pair on the Neverland beach, their feet in the surf, their eyes wary but celebratory as they watched. Wendy had demanded Hook row them to shore, a No-Man's Land, so whomever wished to watch may do so. The crew, of course, their eyes leaking tears of joy as they realised Red-Handed Jill would be theirs forever. Smee, his ruddy Irish accent above all others as he cheered. More surprisingly, perhaps, the Indians. Not all of them, of course, the pirates _were_ present. But Fedha stood, grey eyes glowing, happy to find what had become of her friend to a degree that she nearly forgave her choice of husband. Jian grinned, but kept one hand carefully on his bow and arrow. Kaha was the only morose member, silver eyes shielded, although he tried to remain cheerful for Wendy's sake. The sage stood close beside him, her wizened apple face watching everything, saying nothing.

Most surprisingly, Peter. The Lost Boys scattered around, too young to be particularly interested, but enjoying the ceremony that had all on Neverland at peace for the sake of one girl. Peter was the only one whose eyes were vibrant. Who knows with what, anger, happiness, sympathy. In any case, he didn't kill Captain Hook, nor would he attempt to in the near future. His gift to his mother, the most important woman who had ever been in his life, in the hope that she would forgive him one day for not being all she had wanted. When it came to the vows he flew away in a flash of gold hair and green eyes, unable to bear it.

Other creatures watched. The mermaids popped their heads up, strange faces shifting. Fist sized lights scattered around the crowd, fairies who giggled and chattered. Fila was particularly prominent, resting on Wendy's head every now and again, violet eyes warily watching James.

But all of this… was irrelevant. Neither James nor Wendy noticed the spectacle their union had caused in Neverland, previously unheard of, a parlay uncalled yet enforced with a severity that stemmed from love for the woman he was about to make his forever.

They said their vows, hands clasped, eyes glittering. The bawdy jokes and ribald laughter prevented it from being horrifically romantic, even as the sky turned red with dusk and the sea glittered like a pool of molten rubies. When it came for them to kiss, the warm hand of James on the silk of her waist was as intoxifying as the lips that touched hers, breathe gasping and her fingers twining in his hair. The crew found themselves shocked as their Captain touched his new prize ever-so-gently, his lips a promise rather than a brand. They had no rings. James ruefully glanced at his hook, before declaring that jewellery would not touch his skin so long as he lived.

It wasn't sunbeams and moonlight. It wasn't sordidity and clutching fingers. It was something entirely new, entirely their own, infused with magic and need and desire and pure love, the insensibility of children and the awareness of adulthood.

_And that's all! I think I've done these poor characters to death, I just love them so much! I hope you've enjoyed my re-work of Peter Pan and have found this even remotely more satisfying than J.M. Barrie's version! Please let me know what you think, and have a happy read of whatever else get's shoved your way. _

_S.N. xx_


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